


Crucible

by TheaBloom



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Disturbing Themes, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Romance, Flashbacks, Fluff and Humor, Gun Violence, Hallucinations, Multi, Obsession, Post-Episode: s04e22 No Man's Land, Slow Burn, Zero Year Arc (Gotham)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2020-01-24 08:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 40,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheaBloom/pseuds/TheaBloom
Summary: After Jeremiah Valeska blew the bridges connecting Gotham to the mainland, the city is now up for grabs.  Criminals and murderers run amok and cause chaos throughout.  Territories are claimed and blood is shed.  Before the faithful events of "Year Zero," return to No Man's Land for one last time...





	1. A Job Well Done

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to No Man's Land! Think of this as an intricate novelization of everything that occurred after the Cataclysm and before S5 and the ten year time jump in the series finale. Some of these first few chapters will serve as a bit of recap for S4 before delving into new content. Scheduling of chapters will be irregular from now on.

    

     The sounds of multiple explosions shook the windows.

     Bruce, Barbara, and Ra’s immediately looked up to witness the source of the noise:  the bridge falling into the river in a fiery inferno, metal beams and lights exploding.

     Everyone around them stopped in order to look.  Oswald froze in horror, lowering his assault rifle.  All the League members lowered their swords and looked up to watch the bridge as it fell.

     With another boom, the rest of the bridges fell.  Plumes of heavy black smoke curled into the air and the sounds of traffic became louder and louder.  Oswald and Barbara moved forward to stand beside Alfred and Tabitha, who started toward the window in shock.  The lights on the bridges powered down, leaving the city in darkness.

     Ra’s suddenly grabbed his former heir by the shoulders and pushed him onto his knees, forcing Bruce to look him in the eye.

     Bruce let out a puff of anger then paused in confusion as Ra’s began to rasp at him.

     “The choice is now yours.  Stay… Bruce Wayne… or accept your destiny…”  The man’s voice began to deepen as the knife in his abdomen began to take its toll, cracks of fiery light spreading over his entire body and growing wider and brighter.  “ _Become Gotham’s dark knight_ …”

     Ra’s suddenly let go and let out a dying yell, his body dissipating into dust in front of Bruce.  The knife dropped to the floor and sparks flew into the air.  The smell of blood and dust filled Bruce’s nostrils.

     Bruce’s chest heaved in pain, his eyes beginning to water.  He let out quiet shaky breaths then turned toward the burning bridges outside.  He could hear the sirens in the distance and the fire crackling from the collapsed bridges.  He leaned back in shock and sank down to the ground, placing his still bound hands in his lap.  A migrane began to blossom in his forehead, making his eyes water and shut for a moment.

     “Bruce!”

     Alfred ran over, Tabitha close behind him.  He snatched up the Balashi knife and cut the zip ties around Bruce’s hands.  Bruce immediately got up onto his feet and stormed toward the windows, shaking out the pain in his wrists.  He let out an angry huff through his nose.

     “All this pain, this _destruction_ …”

     Tabitha wound her bullwhip back up then paused.  “ _Where’s Jeremiah?!?_ ”

     Bruce whipped around.

     A small pool of blood remained where Jeremiah once lay, along with a few black scuffmarks.

     Tabitha stalked toward one of the League women.  “Where’s Jeremiah?”

     “He scrambled away while the…”  A male League member gestured towards the explosion outside. 

     “And you didn’t go after him or anything?!?  Do you know that he did that?!?”  Barbara demanded angrily, pointing at the fallen bridges.

     “No, I did not-“

     “ENOUGH!”  Oswald cried, turning to address the League.  “I think most of us would agree that there are… larger issues to address now..."

     Shira, one of the Sisters of the League, shook her head in disbelief.  “Unbelievable.”

     Tabitha turned to Alfred, nodding towards Bruce with her head.  Alfred nodded then gently placed a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.  “Bruce?”

     Bruce felt the heat rise to his cheeks in anger and his hands curl into fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. 

     Jeremiah had to pay.


	2. The End of the Road

     Lee looked out the clouded windows in resignation as her kingdom, the Narrows, began to die.  Gunfire rang out in various tones and she could hear the crackles of arson.  She took a drink of wine from her large cup and set it down in her lap, letting her dry throat enjoy what little alcohol she had left.

     Someone walked in behind her.  “Seems Jeremiah made good on his threat.  And I take it that means you’re not leaving.”

     “How can I?  They need me more than ever now.  No one will help them but me.”

     Ed walked forward and paused at the long dining table beside him, his hands behind his back.  “So what does that mean for us?”

     Lee looked towards him.  “Ed, this is the end of the road for us.”

     Ed frowned then unfolded the knife behind his back.  He smirked at her.  “All this time, I’ve been calling the other Ed stupid and I’m the idiot.”

     Lee looked back down at her cup in her hands.

     Ed walked forward.  “You were never gonna leave with me.  You just wanted to save Jim Gordon.”

     Lee gave a small shake of her head, looking up at the windows.  “You and Jim really aren’t that different.  You both think you know me… you both want to change me.  Neither one of you really sees me-”

     She suddenly spun toward Ed and plunged a knife into his abdomen, making him gag.  She pulled the knife down slightly, making him double over and look her in the eye.

     Ed tossed his knife to the ground then struggled to stand up straight, letting out a choked gasp as Lee placed a hand on his cheek firmly.  He looked down at the knife in him, his mind whirling in confusion.

     “For what it’s worth, Ed, I was offering you something real.”  Lee replied.  “But I was never gonna be what you wanted.  Sooner or later, you were just gonna kill me.  It’s just what you do.”

     Ed paused as Lee began to walk away.  “That’s quite possible-“

     He grabbed by her arm, yanked the knife out of him, and plunged it into the bottom of her ribcage.  Lee let out a yell of pain, grabbing his wrist and looking down at what he had done.  She let out a few gasps then relaxed, closing her eyes with a sigh.

     “-but you’re wrong, Lee.  I do see you.”

     Ed let out a huff of relief as Lee looked up at him.  She sighed, her eyes looking his face up and down in resignation.

     They leaned toward each other and kissed one last time.

     Ed broke away and let out a cough in pain, collapsing to the floor.  He covered his wound with his clammy hands then felt his body relax against the cold floor.  Lee carefully sank down in front of him, leaning back against the desk.  Her hands were weakly wrapped around the pommel of the knife then dropped onto her lap.

     She let out a sigh and closed her eyes.


	3. Gertrude

      Tabitha stomped into the room and held a knife to Strange’s neck, forcing him to stand up from his chair in front of the fire.  He let out a gasp of shock and closed his eyes.

     “Easy…”

     “Where’s Butch?  What did you do with him?”

     She paused in confusion as someone walked into the room behind them.

     “ _I’m right here_.”

     Butch stood in the doorway, giving an expectant smile.

     Tabitha turned around and slowly walked toward him, looking him up and down.  He slowly walked towards her, his arms at his sides calmly.  He wore a smart black suit with a white shirt and a bold, blue and yellow striped tie.  His dark hair was neatly slicked back and out of his face.  Purple and grey varicose veins no longer covered his neck or his hands.  Even his skin was back to its original tan color.

     Tabitha placed a hand on his shoulder.  “You’re you.”

     Butch grinned.  “Yeah, I’m me again.”

     Oswald stepped into the room behind them with a satisfied sniff.

     Tabitha ran her hands up Butch’s shoulders then cradled his face in her hands.  “I love you!”

     She paused.  She had never said that before.

     Butch smiled at her knowingly.  “I love you too, babe.”

     Tabitha brought his face closer and kissed him sweetly.  Butch placed his hand on her hip and kissed her back.  They drew away after what seemed like forever, Butch softly chuckling in relief. 

     He brought Tabitha closer to him then turned toward Oswald behind him, standing at his lover’s side.  “Oswald… I’ll never forget this.  Anything you need, I’m there.”

     Oswald nodded.  “Thank you, Butch.”

     Butch and Tabitha turned back towards each other for a moment with determined smiles.

     “I want you to know that I consider you a friend.  And that I am truly sorry.”

     The two became confused. 

     Butch was the first to speak up.  “What?”

     Oswald pulled out a pistol and fired, hitting Butch in the heart.  Butch doubled over then looked up at his former employer in shock.

     Oswald didn’t say a word.

     Butch sank down onto the floor, Tabitha desperately grabbing his front.  She watched him collapse onto his back and placed her hand over his chest.

     With one last sigh, Butch’s pale face lolled to the side and he closed his eyes.

     “Did you think I forgot you murdered my mother?”

     Tabitha let out a shaky breath, her hand twitching on Butch’s dead chest.

     Oswald placed his hands at his sides as he watched her look over Butch’s body, a smile creeping onto his face.  “That I just _got over it_?  I have lived with that pain every day.  I could have killed you… any time I wanted but I believe in an eye for an eye.  You took away the one person I loved and I took away the one person you loved.  And you get to live with that!”

     Tabitha let out a heartbroken yell and charged.  Oswald quickly shot her in the hip, making her fall onto her knees before him.  She grabbed her hip in pain and looked up at him.  His determined gaze burned into her.

     “All of this?  Finding Strange, killing Butch... was all for you to kill him in front of me?

     Oswald smiled grimly, a shaky breath escaping from his nose.  “ _Exactly_.”

     Tabitha sank down in pain.

     “But don’t worry… in time, when I feel that you have suffered enough… _I will kill you too_.”

     “ _Not if I kill you first_.”  She hissed.

     Oswald gave a lighthearted chuckle and gestured toward the doorway.  “You’re welcome to try!”

     Two henchmen in black trench coats came in and hauled Tabitha onto her feet, wrapping her hands under her arms and stretching the wound in her hip.  She groaned in pain as she was dragged away.

     Oswald looked down at the blood and fluid dribbling out of Butch’s mouth as Tabitha screamed in the background.

     “I’LL KILL YOUUUUU!!”


	4. A True Calling

     Police cars and ambulances lined the street, flashing their lights and honking at cars to drive away.  Bruce winced as one police siren squawked in his ear and he had to jump up to look around.  He whipped around once then froze as one of the side doors to the hospital opened.

     Selina was being pushed out on a gurney, a nurse carrying an intravenous bag beside her.  Her head was wrapped in a bandage and she wore a white hospital shift.  Her hands rested uselessly at her sides, a fine sheen of sweat shining in the harsh light.

     He ran up to her and walked alongside the gurney.  “Selina!”

     The paramedics began to load Selina into an empty ambulance and he skidded to a stop in front of the nurse.  “How is she?”

     The nurse gave him a solemn nod.  “She did well in surgery, but the bullet severed her spinal cord.  And the damage is likely permanent.”

     Bruce immediately looked toward the unconscious Selina in shock, letting his mouth gape open.  His heart dropped to his stomach.  The paramedics finally loaded her in and hung up her intravenous bag then began to load her blood pressure chart near one of the windows.  He took a step forward then looked at the nurse as if in pain.

     “Mr. Wayne, the hospital is shutting down.  This is the last ambulance leaving for the boats.  We have room for you, but we need to go.”

     Bruce felt as if his shoes were made of iron.  He watched Alfred begin to climb into the ambulance then pause, turning back towards him.  He let his eyes wander upwards toward the skyline.  Already, black smoke floated into the sky and several windows were ablaze.  Sirens blared in the background and the faint sound of gunfire began to grow.

     “Bruce…”

     He looked away from the carnage and watched as Alfred stepped toward him.

     “I can’t leave, Alfred.  Ra’s was right.” He said softly.  “This is what I’m meant to do.”

     Alfred took a step to the side in surprise.  “The city’s abandoned, Master Bruce-”

     “Jeremiah’s still out there.”

     “He is not your responsibility.”  Alfred took another step towards him.  “ _Gotham_ is not your responsibility.”

     Bruce gave him a weary yet confident look.  “I’m making it mine.”

     “Oh…” Alfred sighed in exasperation, shaking his head.  He turned back towards Selina for a moment then looked back at Bruce.  “… _sod it_.”

     He walked right up to him.  “All right fine.  We’ll both stay.”

     “No.”  Bruce insisted.  “I need to know Selina’s gonna be OK.”

     Alfred’s eyes flitted and he gave Bruce a sad, knowing look.

     Bruce gave a miniscule nod.  “Please.”

     Alfred sighed then shuffled his feet in place.  “All right, I’ll see that she’s safe and then I’ll come back and I will find you.  I promise.”

     Before Bruce could say anything, Alfred wrapped his arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly, resting his chin in the crook of his neck.

     He closed his eyes and gently ran his hand up to the back of Alfred’s shoulder, leaning in.  After what seemed like forever, Alfred stepped back and looked at him, placing his hands on his arms as if checking him over one last time.

     He gave his butler a solemn nod, his eyes crinkling in sadness.  Alfred sighed then climbed into the ambulance with Selina.  Bruce watched silently as Alfred closed the door behind him and sit beside Selina’s gurney.  The sirens blared and the ambulance drove away down the packed road.  After a minute, it carefully swerved another ambulance and disappeared into the night.

     _Everything is going to be OK_ , he told himself.  _It will all be OK_.

     He took a moment to let the hot street lights hit the side of his face, enjoying what little warmth he had left.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting his shoulders rise and fall.  He opened his eyes and turned back towards the carnage. 

      Ra’s words still lingered in his ear, smooth and calculated:  _From here, we can take in the full **majesty** of Gotham’s destruction._

_So fragile…_

     The shots of gunfire were growing louder and louder and more fires appeared.

     Bruce gave his city a determined look and stalked toward it.


	5. Rome Burning

     Oswald shuffled into City Hall, his cane clicking loudly on the marble floor.  Papers were scattered everywhere and the smell of fresh ink filled the air.

     “Hey!”  A pair of men in black came out.  “What are you guys doing here?”

     With a casual snap of Oswald’s fingers, the henchmen behind him shot the men dead in their tracks.

     He relaxed against his cane and looked around.  “Yes.  This will do nicely.”

     He then paused, rubbing the palm of his hand on the head of his cane.  “But I’m not done yet.”

     “What is it, Boss?”  One of the henchmen asked behind him, picking up one of the bodies and tossing it over his shoulder.

     Oswald didn’t turn to regard him.  “There’s someone missing.”

     ---

     “You can’t come here!  This is our territory!”

     The man charged down the hall and raised his weapon when a beam of ice froze him in place.  Literally.

     Victor Fries lifted his red goggles up onto his icy forehead and stepped forward, his gun squealing as it wound down.  The blue light from his suit illuminated the frozen pipes above him and the frozen corpses that decorated the walls.

     He looked upon the new corpse with a smirk.  “Now it’s mine.”

     ---

     Firefly barged into the room, making her way through the group of henchmen in front of her.  Torches filled the room and heavy machinery was clanking to life in the adjacent aisle.  “I want a ring of fire ten blocks wide!”

     She readied her flamethrower and regarded the people standing behind.  “And if anyone stands in your way… burn them!”

     As the group left, she ignited her flamethrower and cackled, letting the stream incinerate a wooden beam above her.  The new fire burned brightly, filling her vision with bright colors.

     Why need friends when she had fire?

     ---

     The man carefully placed the items in his backpack and quietly closed the cabinet door before walking away.  His greasy black hair hung in his face and he wiped sweat off his brow, swiping his hand on the wall next to him.

     He walked into the dining room to find an active chemistry set on the table.  Gadgets whistled as they worked and mysterious clear liquid bubbled in graduated cylinders.  Thin silver pipes ran all throughout it and the air stank of chemicals.

     “What the hell…”

     He began to walk toward it when he heard something walk behind him.  He turned around to find a man- no, something else- a creature of some kind stop in the doorway.  He was covered in rags and wore a burlap conical hat on his head.  Standing in the dark, his eyes were black and beady and his hands appeared to be somewhat human.

     “No… not hell.”

     The Scarecrow raised his hand and sprayed fear gas in the man’s face.  The man screamed in horror and leaned back in fright as he raised a scythe in the air.  Before the man could yell for help, Scarecrow leaned forward and beheaded the man.  The decapitated head plopped to the floor with a bloody squish and the body dropped beside it.

     Scarecrow strode forward and carefully picked the head up by its shaggy black hair.  His eyes widened in interest as he leaned closer in interest.  “Hell _is what’s coming_.”

     He let out a satisfied sigh then walked toward his work table, adjusting one of the silver pipes with the top curve of his scythe casually.  “We have work to do.”


	6. Dearest Dead

     “ _ **EDDWARDDD!!**_ ”

     Oswald banged on the chain link door.  He tried peering through the holes but large filing cabinets blocked his view.  He straightened his posture and fixed his ascot.  “Ed… I know you’re in there.”

     “Should I break down the door?”  The henchman beside him asked.

     Oswald quickly held up a finger to silence him.  He then paused and banged on the door again, letting the sound echo.  “Lee?”

     No answer.

     His henchman sniffed the air beside him.  “Smells like something… _died_.”

     “ _Break the lock_.”

     Oswald stepped back and watched the henchman kneel down and attack the lock with a soldering iron.  He let out an anxious sigh and adjusted his jacket collar.

     The second henchman behind him batted away some of the sparks that flew in the air.  “What are you gonna do with Mr. Nygma?”

     Oswald smiled.  “I will persuade him to leave this forsaken place… and join me in City Hall.”

     The lock flew off.

     Oswald pushed the door open and marched in.  He ignored the nervous sweat that began to gather on his neck and fixed his patterned ascot again.  “Did you hear the word, my dear-“

     He froze in horror, his cane dropping to the floor with a clatter.

     A pool of blood snaked down the small set of steps, its rank filling the air.  Lee sat on the floor, her back against the desk.  Her indigo suit jacket was soaked in blood and her bejeweled hand lay limp beside her.  Ed was on the floor, bloody and still.  His green jacket was soaked all the way through and his hat was cast aside.

     A bloody dagger lay between them.

     Oswald let out a bloodcurdling wail and stumbled over to Ed.  He carefully cradled his friend in his arms and held him. He then drew back and ran his hands over Ed’s face.  “Ed?  Ed, wake up!  Wake up!”

     Ed didn’t move.

     Oswald shook him.  “ED!  Say something!”

     He slapped him.  He wanted Ed to let out a gasp for air and look upon him with grateful brown eyes, or grab his collar in relief.  Any sign of life would do.

     Ed was dead.

     Oswald let out a whimper and rocked him back and forth, holding Ed against him.

     One of the henchmen reached over and checked Lee’s pulse.  “She’s dead too, Penguin.”

     Oswald let out a shaky gasp, resting his chin on Ed’s temple.  “This is my fault.  I should have gotten him out of here beforehand.”

     “This was recent.”  The other henchman added.  “You couldn’t have known.”

     Oswald let go of Ed as the blood began to seep into his coat.  He let out a choked sob then a mournful sniff.  “But I could have prevented it anyway!”

     “Well… what do you want us to do with him?”

     Oswald made tight fists with his hands as he thought.  He then snapped his fingers, jabbing a finger in the air.  “Marshall, if you could… load Ed up…”  He glanced over at Lee then carefully got back onto his feet.  “And the Narrows queen as well.  I suppose I could do… one more grateful thing for Jim.  And Davey!  Drive me back to City Hall!”

     “Where do you want me to take them?”  Marshall asked nervously.

     “Tell Hugo Strange to fix them.”  Oswald began to step down but stopped.  He closed his eyes for a moment then smiled, shaking his finger.  “And you can quote me on that!”


	7. Woman Power

     “Ra’s al Ghul is gone.  You defeated him.”  Khalil looked back and forth between his brothers before looking back at his leader.  “We have spoken and agree:  we will follow you.”

     The three men knelt down and bowed their heads, offering their swords up.

     The Sisters of the League watched the men in silence.  Leila, the leader of the Sisters, placed her hand on the countertop then looked at her leader in front of her.  Barbara sat at the front of the bar, holding a goblet of champagne in her hand.

     She was unimpressed.  “ _Wow_.  I am honored.”

     A pair of men stumbled into the room, helping a wounded and bleeding Tabitha.  Her feet skid on the glossy marble floor and blood dripped down from her hip and leg.

     Barbara immediately set down her glass and started forward in concern.  “Tabitha?  What happened?”

     Tabitha panted in pain.  “Penguin… shot me and killed Butch.”

     Barbara frowned and let out an angry sniff.  Her hands twitched at her sides in adrenaline and she began to twitch in fury.  “Everything… that is wrong with Gotham…”

     She looked around to address the Sisters and the three men.  “All the greed, the pain, the _corruption_ , the _destruction_ , it can all be traced back to _one_ problem:  _men_!”

     Tabitha raised her head and gave a small yet confident nod.

     Barbara turned back towards Leila for a moment before looking down at Khalil and his League brothers.  “Well I think it’s time that we… had a men-free zone.  Starting here.”

     She walked back to her seat as the Sisters surged forward, pulling out their swords and knives.  She sat back in her seat and picked up her glass as she watched the few remaining men die. 

     When the last body dropped, one of the Sisters turned back towards her.  “What should we do with them?”

     Barbara raised her head proudly and smirked.  “Lash them up onto the pillars outside.  Let everyone know that here at the Sirens… we don’t allow any man in.  _Not anymore_.”


	8. There Is Light

     The lights switched on in the police precinct.  Jim carefully set his rifle down on a desk next to him as Lucius Fox strolled in.

     “That’s better.  Much better.”  Lucius declared.

     Jim started towards the man in surprise.  “Lucius?!?”

     “I requisitioned one of Jeremiah’s battery bombs before it went to the warehouse.  Just restored it to its original purpose.”  Lucius gave him an impressed look.  “It is an ingenious mechanism.”

     Jim gripped the rails in front of him then looked up as another voice chimed in.

     “I told him we were staying.”

     Harvey walked in.  “Figure we could use some help with the uh… science stuff.”

     Lucius nodded in agreement then turned back towards Jim.  “And there are others on their way.  This is our city.  You’re going to need our help.”

     Jim nodded then raised his chin.  “Speaking of, there’s something I need you to do.”

     ---

     Bruce slammed a cult follower to the ground then grabbed another man by the shoulder, repeatedly driving his knee into his groin with a yell.  He then slammed the man against the shipping crate and help him fall to the ground.

     The last cultist standing began to run away but Bruce drove him into another shipping crate with a T-kick.  The man doubled over in pain with a moan.  Bruce grabbed him by his shirt and forced him back onto his feet.  He then placed his arm over the man’s throat and yanked his hair.

     “ _Where’s Jeremiah?”_ He growled.

     “I don’t know!”

     “ _You see him, you tell him I’m lookin’ for him_.”

     Bruce punched the cultist with a right cross, making the man stumble away and collapse to the ground.  He didn’t even bother making sure the man was unconscious.  He stalked away, shaking out his hand.

     A bright light turned on in the distance, making Bruce stop in his tracks.  He looked up to the sky in wonder, his mouth open.  The bright white beam of light was pointed up to the sky, illuminating some of the clouds.  A small black sliver penetrated the middle of the light.

     Bruce quickly made his way towards it.

\---

     Jim stood beside the searchlight, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  He looked up to the sky, letting the hum of the light fill his ears and the warmth consume him.  He heard footsteps behind him and he turned around.   

     Bruce Wayne stood behind him, solemn and silent.

     Jim walked towards the teenager.  “Bruce… you’re not supposed to be here.”

     “Neither are you.  There’s a dozen cops downstairs.  You stayed to fight for the city.”

     Jim paused then slowly nodded, nodding toward the searchlight behind him.  “Gangs are carving up territory.  We’re gonna have to go block by block.”  He let out a sigh as both of them walked toward the light.  “And I have no idea what we’re gonna find.  A thing like this brings out whatever’s lurking in the shadows.”

     Bruce stopped beside the light and studied it for a moment.  He ran his hand along the rim then dropped it, stepping aside to let Jim stand next to him.  They both looked up at the sky.

     “The light.  You’re basically daring whatever’s out there to come after you.”

     Jim watched the teenager turn towards him, his expression serious.  “Let them come.”

     He then walked forward a little bit, looking around.  “There are still good people out there.  They need to know we’re here, willing to fight.”

     “I remember the night we met.”

     Jim dropped his head slightly, listening to Bruce walk up next to him.  His mind wandered back to that fateful night in Crime Alley- a place he never considered visiting again.

     “You told me ‘the world may seem dark…’”

     Jim looked at Bruce then looked up at the light.  “’… _there is light_.’”


	9. Buried on a Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 of No Man's Land

_“You’re sweet-”_

_“I’d put that hand on some ice-”_

_“Strangely enough, I am kind of fond of you-“_

_“I still love you, Tabby-“_

_“C’mon, Butch.  I know you can never forget me-”_

_“We’re not just gonna hand this thing over and let him destroy Gotham, are we?”_

_“…Tabby?”_

_Butch sank down onto the floor as she desperately grabbing his front.  She watched him collapse onto his back and placed her hand over his chest.  Blood trickled from his mouth and his skin began to turn back into an ashy grey-_

_BANG!_

_\---_

“Miss Galavan?”

     Tabitha felt a hand gently tap her cheek.  She opened her eyes to look at one of the Sisters standing over her, the overwhelming smell of exotic perfume filling her nose.

     The Sister politely held her hand up and patted it.  “We’re done.  You should be able to take it easy now.”

     “Thank you, Natasha.”

     Natasha was the smallest of the Sisters, her sleek black hair tied up in a tight ballerina bun.  She was a reserved warrior but was gentle.  Tabitha had taken the time to learn most of the Sisters’ names before Barbara had kicked her out the first time.  Some of the names still escaped her mind.

     Maybe the fact that Barbara tried to kick her out the first time as the pseudo-new “Demon’s Head” had something to do with that.

     Tabitha got up from her seat and began limping out of the office.

     “Miss Galavan, you shouldn’t be walking around-“

     She snatched her whip up from the chair near her and fastened it back around her belt.  She limped into the bar room and sat down on one of the cushioned seats in the middle.  She pushed one of the pillows behind her back and sat back with a painful grunt.

     One of the Sisters turned on the speakers and soft jazz music began playing.  The lights began to turn on, casting red, yellow, and pink shapes on the black marble floor.  Tabitha looked around and watched the Sister carry a tray of drinks to the front of the bar then adjust a small stone statuette nearby.

     “How’s the hip, honey?”

     Tabitha looked up to watch Barbara walk into the room, her black strappy heels hanging from her fingers.  She wore a dark blue jumpsuit with hints of a subtle swirling pattern of light grey embroidery around the waist.  A black jacket hung casually off her shoulders as if she wore a cape.  The idea that Barbara still dressed up at a time like this did not come as a surprise.

     “I’m only asking ‘cause it’s opening night and blood on the floor doesn’t cast a good image for the people coming in.”  Barbara continued, sitting down next to her. 

     She didn’t respond.

     Barbara slowly nodded.  “I can have Leila and some of her girls-“

     “No, I’m good.  Natasha helped me out a little bit ago.”

     “Then what’s wrong?”

     “There’s noting wrong.”

     “Tabby…”

     Tabitha looked over at Barbara.  “What?”

     “I know you better than that.  Tell me what is wrong.”

     There was a long moment of silence between them.  Tabitha then let out a sigh, dropping her shoulders in defeat.  “I need time to adjust to everything, to… Butch…”

     She shook her head and looked down at her lap.  “I don’t want that to happen again.”

     Barbara slowly grabbed her hand and kissed it, making her look up.  “Oswald will pay.  I promise.”

     Tabitha nodded.

     Barbara patted her hand and brushed the stray hair out of her face.  “We’re all adjusting.  And I want to make sure that everyone I care for is safe.  But we gotta do one thing at a time.  Like… this place.”

     Tabitha sniffed and wiped her eyes.  “Patience… right.  Not really my forte.”

     Barbara chuckled and planted a kiss on her cheek.  “There she is.”

     She let go of her hand and put her high heels on.  Once she stood up, she put on her jacket and did a quick spin.

     Tabitha nodded.  “Looks good.”

     Barbara paused, gesturing toward her hip.  “Still able to open up the place with me?”

     Tabitha sighed.  “Maybe.”

     “Moral support then?  You can stand behind the bar and show off what many, many drinks we can give the ladies of Gotham.”

     “I’m just gonna stand around silent and drink?  …I can do that.”

     Barbara helped her up onto her feet then walked into the office.  Tabitha fixed her black-and-gold jacket then limped over to the bar.  She paused then looked out the windows, holding a hand to her hip.  Some of the smaller buildings outside still smoldered from the previous night and morning fog began to roll in.  Condensation began to gather on the windows along with a fine dusting of ash in the bottom corners.

     Tabitha let out an enraged huff then poured herself a drink.


	10. Bound

     Bruce stood in the elevator, surrounded by nurses.  He awkwardly looked down at his feet and clasped his hands in front of him as more nurses entered.  His black jacket and sweater stood out like a sore eye compared to the nurses’ pristine red-and-white uniforms.

     One of the nurses looked over at him, her curly red hair starting to fall out of her cap.  “Are you here to see someone?”

     Bruce glanced over at her for a moment then looked down at his hands.  “Yes.  Yes I am.”

     The nurse smiled then gestured toward him.  “You look familiar.  Have I seen you around?”

     Bruce shook his head.

     “You’re Bruce Wayne, aren’t you?”

     Bruce sighed.  “…yes.”

     The elevator bell dinged and the doors slid open.  Bruce carefully stepped out and walked down the hall.  The smell of medicines and body odor filled the air.  A doctor walked by him, pulling an intravenous pole behind him.  Bruce paused then caught the doctor by the bottom of his white coat.  “Excuse me?”

     The doctor turned toward him.  “Can I help you, Mr. Wayne?”

     Everyone knew who he was.  Everyone.

     “I… I’m looking for someone.  Selina Kyle?  The nurse downstairs told me to try the fifth floor but-”

     The doctor nodded.  “Fourth room down on your right.”

     Bruce let out a sigh of relief.  “Thank you.”

     Before the doctor could say anything else, Bruce jogged down the hallway.  He skid to a stop at the fourth room then looked in.  He then stepped away for a moment and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.  He opened his eyes then slowly walked into the room.

     Curtains were drawn over most of the patient beds.  The late morning sun began pouring through the windows.  A gramophone sat in the corner, softly playing music.  One of the other patients sat up in his bed and mouthed something at him, the tube in his throat twitching.

     Another nurse came in for aid, brushing Bruce’s shoulder.  “It’s good to see you awake, Patrick.  Yes, we’ll get you some more nutrients in no time.”

     Bruce watched the nurse tend to her patient then walked away, his throat tight.  He came to one of the last beds in the aisle and froze.

     Alfred sat at the side of the bed, his hand cradling his head as he slept.  His watch was on the bed next to him, ticking loudly.  His coat was draped over the side of his chair and a tray of food on the inn table next to him.  Selina lay on the bed, an intravenous drip inserted into her arm.  Her curly hair was pinned up in a hair wrap and her eyes were sunken.  Her clothes and gloves were neatly bundled in a cubbie under her bed, along with her whip.

     Bruce quietly pulled up a chair and sat down at the end of the bed.  He shrugged off his overcoat and leaned against the arm of his chair, crossing his arms.  The blood pressure level on Selina’s chart near him beeped softly.

     “Selina…”  Bruce muttered.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean for this to happen, especially to you…”

     He let out a sniff then wiped his eye, sitting up in his seat.  He sighed then gave her a solemn look.  “I’m doing everything I can to fix what I’ve let happen.  I can’t lose anyone again… _and no one will stop me_.”


	11. Morning Brew

     The smell of fresh, strong coffee woke him up.

     He sat up with a groan, slowly blinking his eyes open.  His entire upper body felt as if it was made of weights and his head spun.  His shoulder felt as if it was torn off.

     Once he did open his eyes, he took in the new environment.  The curtains were thrown open slightly beside him and a tall reading lamp was on in the corner, illuminating a tall black cushioned chair.  A large vanity set next to the chair sat directly across from him and he could see his bruised, bloody reflection blink back sleepily at him.  Some small incense burners decorated it, sending the tart smell of oranges in the air.  The kitchenette area lay on the other side of the room, small and dark.  Sheer lavender curtains covered the many windows nearby.  He looked down and patted the light green comforter under him and turned off the vintage brown-and-yellow glass lamp beside him.

     Ecco immediately looked up at him and walked over to his side.  She had changed from her Mummer attire to a pair of black work pants and a white blouse with a thin navy blue scarf tied around her waist like a belt.  Her hair was up in a messy bun and her bangs were haphazardly tucked to the side.  She looked as if she stayed up the entire night.  “You’re awake.”

     “Ecco… where am I?”

     Ecco gave him a confused look.  “You… you called me at the rendezvous we established for emergencies and told me to take you to a safe house…”

     Jeremiah looked around the room again then paused.  “Your _apartment_?”

     “Mmm hmm.  It was the closest place.  I had you sleep on the day bed and I took up the chair over there.”  Ecco replied then nodded toward his shoulder, a pang of worry on her face.  “You were already unconscious when I patched you up.  You’ve lost so much blood…”

     Jeremiah slowly followed her gaze and ran a finger down a bloody bandage that covered his shoulder.  “Where’s my jacket?”

     “Being washed.”

     “Ah.”  Jeremiah proceeded to get up from the day bed with a grunt.  He waved off Ecco’s attempt to help and shuffled into the kitchen.  Ecco stepped ahead of him and tended to the coffee maker on the counter. 

     “The bridges went down last night.  Everything worked according to plan.”  He said, sitting down at the small kitchen table.

     Ecco handed him a full mug of coffee and dropped two sugar cubes in it.  “Congratulations.  They kicked on the emergency generators last night when I brought you in.”

     “Mmm… well the other criminals have undoubtly started marking off territory so we will have a whole section of Gotham to ourselves if timed right.”

     They both clinked mugs then took a drink.

     “I still wish I could have helped out with the bombs.”  Ecco muttered.

     Jeremiah set down his mug with an exasperated sigh.  “I didn’t want to reveal all of my cards.  Your invaluable help and loyalty is something I can’t expose to a group of… hooligans.”  He then ran a finger over the rim of his mug in contempt.  “Those… idiots tried turning on me.  Gordon got to their stupid hive minds.”

     Ecco hung on to every word.  “You killed them all, right?”

     “By burning them alive, yes.”

     Ecco nodded then took another sip.  “And Bruce?”

     “Killed that fortuneteller al Ghul I told you about.  Barbara Kean helped him do it.”

     “The Sirens leader?  She sounds… wonderful.”  The sarcasm dripping from her voice was music to Jeremiah’s ears and made him chuckle.

     “Well, my dear, if we ever meet the bitch, you have first dibs.”

     Ecco let out a hum of agreement.

     Jeremiah paused as she gave him a small smile and took a drink.  He opened his mouth as if to say something then awkwardly cleared his throat, taking a sip from his mug.  He tried leaning forward on his elbow while combing back his hair but hissed in pain.

     Ecco put down her mug and leaned towards him, gently placing her hands on his bandage.  “I think you popped a stitch.”

     Jeremiah sat back in his seat with a groan, pulling down part of his ruined dressed shirt.  Ecco walked around to him and carefully peeled back some of the bandage.

     “We need to keep moving forward…” he muttered then tried looking over at her.  “Any damage?”

     She sighed then carefully put the bandage back.  “No.  Just pulled it.  Give yourself another day or so and you should be able to move out.”

     Jeremiah fixed his shirt again then watched her go over to the sink to wash her hands.  He carefully got off his chair and leaned against the corner of the table towards her.  Drumming his fingers on the counter for a moment, he adjusted his collar.  “You’re coming with me, I suppose?”

     Ecco paused.  She turned towards him and looked him in the eye.  “Of course I will.”

     He stood up straight.  “It’s dangerous.”

     “Of course.  You wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t.”

     Jeremiah let out a small hum of acknowledgement then chuckled.  “My my, look at the two of us.”

     Ecco gave him a small smile, awkwardly stuffing her hands in the pockets of her work pants.  She never did smile a lot, which absolutely pained him.  When she did though, it always made him immediately smile back warmly at her.

     She then awkwardly cleared her throat and the moment ended.  “I can run out and see what stores haven’t been looted if you would like.”

     “That would work, thank you.”  Jeremiah then walked back toward the daybed.  “In the meantime… I shall retire some more.”

     “It’s eleven in the morning.”

     Jeremiah paused then rolled his eyes, turning back towards her on his heel.  “Then are there any books perchance?”

     “In the basket next to the daybed.”

     Jeremiah sat back down on the daybed and watched her put on her dark red leather jacket.  She slung a black backpack over her shoulder and walked back into the kitchen.  He adjusted a pillow behind his back as she brought over his coffee mug, freshly refilled, and put down a plate of graham crackers.  “I can also stop by and get some antibiotics just in case.  If you want anything else to eat, there’s a few cups of pudding left in the fridge.  Anything you want while I’m out?”

     “…A brandy.”

     Ecco paused as if to protest then sighed through her nose.  “Yeah…”

     Jeremiah took his mug and raised it toward her with a smirk.

     Ecco nodded silently, offering him another smile, then pulled out her porcelain mask from her backpack.  “I’ll be back later.”

     She walked out the door, aware that he was watching her the whole time.  As soon as she closed the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment and closed her eyes.  Her heartbeat began to slow down and she let out a deep sigh.

     The sounds of the city began to flood her senses and she grew warm.  The smell of gunfire filled the air and she opened her eyes to see smoke rising in thick grey and black plumes in the distance.

     Putting on her mask, she went to work.


	12. Demons Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of No Man's Land

     Hugo Strange carefully slipped off his white medical gloves and walked over to the bodies with a chuckle.  He adjusted his thin red-stained glasses and turned on the voice cassette recorder, holding it to his mouth.  “This is Hugo Strange, analyzation test four for patients Edward Nygma and Dr. Lee Thompkins.  Aliases are the Riddler and the Queen of the Narrows appropriately.”

     He paused at Ed’s cold body.  “Both victims received fatal stab wounds to the transverse abdominis.  Wounds appear to be close encounter and occurred with what seems to be a pocketknife.  No sign of said weapon on either body so Cobblepot’s men must have confiscated it in order to erase evidence.  On a personal aside note, surrendering the weapon to a licensed medical doctor such as myself would have been a wiser idea to consider.  As for Mr. Edward Nygma…”  Strange tilted his head down towards the body curiously.  “Has background with dissociative identity disorder; however, it is unclear who is the specified dominant of the two personalities due to his inability to cooperate.  There have been some cases outside of Gotham where a patient with this disorder has had difficulty identifying the main personality.  More context concerning Nygma will help solidfy his diagnosis.”

     He turned toward Lee for a moment then walked around to get a chair.  “As for Dr. Leslie Thompkins, she recently surrendered herself to the GCPD.  I believe it had something to do with robbing a bank for the people of the Narrows.  No noted disorders or conditions of any kind.  Just someone caught at the wrong time…”

     He let out a chuckle.  “How horrible for her.  The more bodies, the better.”

     As soon as Strange pulled up a chair, the black vintage rotary phone next to him on the table began to ring.  He stopped his recording and set down his cassette recorder on the table, picking up the receiver.  “I do believe you have the wrong extension.  If you would like to call the GCPD-“

     “ _Dr. Hugo Strange, how wonderful it is to speak with you at last._ ”

     He paused then chuckled.  “Forgive me, sir, but I don’t seem to know you.  Have we met?”

     The voice was heavily modulated and deep.  _“No, not face to face.  Unfortunately, with my position in the government, I will not be able to meet you for a good while._ ”

     His heart dropped to his stomach.  “…I thought the Court was extinguished.  The Tetch virus outbreak-”

     “ _I had no affiliation with that society.  I was made aware of their presence by my associate but, if I recall, it was noted that they were indeed wiped out_.”

     “Yes… let’s go with that.”

     _“Not to worry, Professor.”_

     Strange took out a pen from his breast pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.  “Might I get your name?”

     _“I wish to remain anonymous in the case that I might be betrayed.  I hope that you of all people would understand my worries.”_

     Strange dropped his pen on the table in shock.  He then let out a nervous chuckle.  “Of course.  Doctor-patient confidentiality still applies here in Gotham.  Is there something I can get you, Mr. …John Doe?”

     _“Gotham is run amok.  The government is stubborn yet hopeful.  They don’t see how hopeless your city is.  Don’t you wish to leave this place?  Renew your… spotted career as a respected psychiatrist somewhere else in the country?  Or you could retire, knowing that you’ve helped a good cause in purging the most heinous criminals from this world?”_

     “I beg your pardon, but I would be one of them.  Who’s to say that this plan might change at the last minute?”

     “ _Once you help me, we can get you a full pardon for your crimes.  Indian Hill will be considered a mere blip in the system, a speck of dust easily wiped away_.” 

     Strange paused, sitting back in his seat.  He tapped his finger against the receiver in thought then sat forward, picking up his pen again.  “A tempting offer.  What would one need to do in order to accomplish this vision?”

     _“Spies.  And absolute silence.  The GCPD is voiceless from the collapse of the bridges; no power, nothing for the citizens.  Half of them are the very vermin that need to be exterminated.”_

     “A beautiful metaphor, Mr. Doe.”  Strange looked over at the two bodies lying on the medical tables near him.  He clicked his pen open and pulled a napkin out of his pocket, unfolding it onto his knee.  “Elaborate on these… _spies_ of yours.”


	13. Triple Agent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 of No Man's Land

     The formal office for the mayor, now vacant, was large and covered in black and gold marble.  Reliefs of miners and other workers decorated the wall behind the mayor’s desk and an enormous mural hung behind the large, winding staircase.  A collection of white cushioned chairs sat in the middle of the room and the heavy black curtains were pushed aside, letting in the sunlight.  With enough light streaming in, dust particles danced in the air and emphasized the soft creases in the white chairs and the old cup rim stains on the small coffee table nearby.  The desk looked as if it had been abandoned the entire time.

     Considering the former Mayor’s preferences for either not using it or neglecting the whole office entirely in order to yell at the GCPD for some inane reason, he wasn’t surprised.

     Oswald carefully made his way down the stairs, holding onto the rails for support with an iron grip.  His leg ached and popped as he touched the grey-green marble floor at the bottom.  He let out a muffled snort of pain then shuffled to the desk.

     A guard stood by, his hands behind his back.  He wore an all-black uniform and black leather gloves, complementing his dark temple faded hair.  He offered a polite nod as Oswald sat down.  “Rogers, Perron, and Warren are out on patrol around the front, Mr.  Cobblepot.  As you requested, Marshall and Laurent are casing the back.”

     “Very good, Mr. Wilson.  You can get back to work.”

     “Is there anything else you require?”

     “No… that will be all for now.”

     Mr. Wilson nodded then walked out of the room.

     Oswald sank back into his seat and propped his cane against the desk.  He thought about going back upstairs to get the bottle of bourbon he had been slowly emptying the previous morning but his leg throbbed in dull waves of pain.  Leaning down, he looked through all the desk drawers carefully.  There were many manila folders with old photographs.  Many of the photographs were of cases Oswald had been vaguely of:  a dock storage room, a torture box with a sliding chain bolt, a large overflowing jar of blood marked with a sticker that said “TETCH,” and a upward shot of a grand staircase with a busted up chair and rope.  He carefully organized the folders then put them back in the drawer.  As soon as he began to close the drawer, he saw a large red trimmed plastic bag sticking out.  Moving his cane out of the way, Oswald took out the bag and opened it.  Inside was an orange medicine bottle with Mayor James’ information printed on the side.  He set the bottle on the table and opened its content. 

     Oswald froze.  He turned the bottle slightly over and dumped out a trio of white pills.  All of them had small green question marks printed on top.  In fact, all of the pills had the same marking.  He tapped them around with his finger and picked one up, holding it up in the light. 

     “What the hell have you been doing, Ed…” He muttered aloud.

     The doors banged open.  Oswald swiftly dropped the three pills back in the bottle and dropped the bottle back into the plastic bag.  One of the guards came in, frog marching a smaller, older man in.  “Found this guy sneaking around the premises.  Said he was looking for you, Mr. Cobblepot.”

     Oswald motioned for him to walk forward.  He sat up in his seat and fingered the edge of his desk.  “Let’s see what he wanted.”

     The man scoffed indignantly.  “Mr. Cobblepot… we’ve worked together before!  You don’t remember me?”

     Oswald squinted, trying to remember.  The man wore a tattered brown suit with navy and white pinstripes.  Holes were scattered up his right sleeve and his collar was ripped.  His thin red bowtie hung loosely from his neck and large ink stains covered his front.  His greasy grey hair clung to his temples and his thin framed glasses were crooked on his face.

     Oswald’s jaw dropped and he let out a loud, shocked gasp.  “Mr. Penn?!?”  He snapped his fingers at the guard.  “Let him go at once!”

     The guard promptly let go of Mr. Penn, who stumbled forward.  “I’m sorry to have trespassed on your territory like this-“

     Oswald rushed towards him and grabbed him by the shoulders, letting out a cry of relief.  He then gripped the man’s collar and shook it violently.  “Where the _hell_ have you been all this time?”

     Mr. Penn looked surprised.  “I’ve… I was on the run.  Sort of.  I knew you were still upset about that business concerning Sofia Falcone and-“

     Oswald let out a furious sigh through his nose, shaking his head.  “Oh, believe me, I’m still angry about that.  But… I think I know of a way we can resolve our… past differences.”

     Mr. Penn almost collapsed in relief.  “Oh thank you, Mr. Cobblepot!  What can I ever do to repay?”

     “You can do what you did the first time:  as my secretary with no prior commitments to other territory leaders.  If need be, you will act as my proxy when it comes to traveling to other sectors.  All the workers will report to you and you will give me a status report every day.”

     Mr. Penn paused then sighed in resignation.  “Yes, Mr. Cobblepot.”

     “Are there any problems with that?”

     “No, Mr. Cobblepot!”

     “That… feels so nice to hear that from someone I like for once.”  Oswald patted his secretary’s shoulders then stepped back.  “A good wash would do you some good.  And a new set of clothes.  I can have one of the guards look into that when they come in from patrol for the evening.”

     Mr. Penn nodded then watched him walk back to his desk.  “Forgive me, Mr. Cobblepot, but I don’t understand.  Are you reinstating the Iceberg Lounge here?”

     Oswald leaned against his desk.  “No… I’m afraid not.  The Sirens took it back from me after I was locked in Arkham a while ago.  With the current condition Gotham is in now, what with Gordon seeking out help-“

     He scoffed.  “-Who knows what will come of that… I need to focus on a new objective.  To reinstate myself as the King of Gotham…”

     He pulled his cane up and over from the other side of his desk and twirled it under his hand.  “I need support from the people.”

     Mr. Penn took a step forward, clasping his hands together.  “Have you thought about community service?”

     “I’m not one who gets my hands dirty unless necessary.  Or it’s personal.”

     “Well, I’m not one to contradict you, Mr. Cobblepot, but you were the Mayor of Gotham once.  Perhaps you could dip into some of your tactics from back then.”

     “As if that’s not what I’ve been doing.”  Oswald then paused.  “The people need protection from the likes of those who seek to do them harm.  Some will be so stubborn as to pledge to protect themselves.”

     Mr. Penn nodded.  “That will certainly do it, Mr. Cobblepot.  I will support any conclusion you come to.”

     Oswald sneered at him mockingly then looked down at his feet, rapping his cane on the floor.  He shuffled over to the window and let out an exhausted sigh.  “My dear mother… will want me to help people to the best of my ability.  And that is what I will do.”

     He rubbed the palm of his hand over the top of his cane.  The doors opened behind him and he turned to watch the reflections of the guards walking in.  “Anything to report?”

     “Nothing, Mr. Cobblepot.”

     “Good.  See to it that Mr. Penn acquires some new changes of clothes.  I like my work stations clean and without parasites to dirty them.”

     Mr. Penn looked over to see one of the guards walk up to him then looked over at Oswald, who kept looking out the window.  “It’s good to see you, Mr. Cobblepot.”

     Oswald turned on his heel toward him, bowing his head slightly.  “And I you.  Just make sure you know who you’re working for this time.”

     Mr. Penn nodded quickly. 

     Oswald turned back toward the window and listened to his assistant walk out of the room.  Once the doors closed, he looked back at the plastic bag still on his desk.  He was grateful that Mr. Penn did not decide to probe him over it.  He always found that aspect of the older man annoying.  Letting out a longing sigh, he looked back out the window.

     Oswald only had one person on his mind, someone less annoying and more comforting to think about.  “Ed… you better get back here.”


	14. The New Flesh

     “No!  Please!  Stop!  I did nothing wrong!  _You’ve got the wrong guy!_ ”

     The man dropped to the floor unceremoniously.  He spat out blood then wiped his nose with the back of his hand.  Shivering, he sat up on her knees and shook his hands in front of him.  “Please!  I’m just a business for a subsidiary!  Let me talk to some people then-“

     Jonathan seized him by the chin and forced him to look straight up at him.  His breath grew shaky behind his burlap mask and his eyes grew wide.  The intruder below him looked like his father.  Strands of grey decorated his temples and kind crow’s feet were fixed around a pair of hazel eyes.  Even the man’s slight age spots matched.  All he needed was a pair of horn-rimmed glasses and a less pitiful demeanor.

     “Are you frightened?”  Jonathan rasped.

     The man nodded with a whimper.

     “Don’t be too scared… can you tell me where we are?”

     “W-We’re in… in a basement.  For a church?”

     “Yes… _how dreadful_ …”

     Jonathan grabbed the man by the collar and dragged him away.  His goons quietly stepped out of the way, as he strode up the stairs and into the makeshift nave.  They quietly followed, in two straight lines behind their leader.

     The exposed torn walls of the destroyed church whistled as wind blew through.  The collapsed roof over the altar was covered in broken ceiling beams and dusty white marble.  Bundles of hay had been set up to block the exposed sharp corners and a tarpaulin hung halfway off the ceiling, dripping dew.

     “What are you doing?”  The man demanded, his teeth clattering in the high wind.  He tried clawing at Jonathan’s sleeve but Jonathan threw him into the altar.  The man scrambled to get back up again then sank back down as Jonathan advanced.  “What do you want from me?”

     “I now rule over an earthly kingdom of terror.  I need-“

     A large wind burst through, almost knocking Jonathan off his feet.  A large wooden cross fell off the wall with a loud clatter, sending pieces of wood and metal flying in the air.  The goons standing near let out gasps at the loud noise.  Jonathan turned to regard it then looked down at the man below him.  He bared his teeth behind his mask and leaned down toward the man.  “Adrenaline glands are given an extra boost when it comes to stressful or traumatic events.  Do you know what it can cause?”

     “What…”

     “Fear.  Either you fight or-“

     The Scarecrow raised his hand and sprayed fear toxin in the man’s face.  The toxin immediately seeped into his eyes and mouth, leaving behind pale orange smears and spots of liquid scattered on his face.  The man tried rubbing it out of his eyes then looked up, letting out a frightened wail.

     “…or in your case, _just stay here_.”

     Scarecrow then seized the man by the collar and dragged him over to the cross.  The goons followed uneasily.  The man screamed.  “ ** _IT’S ON TOP OF ME!_** ”

     Scarecrow ripped the nails out of the wall then looked toward his followers.  He then looked down at the screaming man.  “Is it too much?  Does it frighten you more than it should?”

     “ ** _JUST GET IT OFF ME!_** ”

     “Hmmm… leeches perhaps?  Or just…”  Scarecrow prodded the man’s chest with his finger with each word.  “…one big fat one?”

     One of his followers took a step forward.  “Let it consume him!”  
     Scarecrow peered into his victim’s eyes.  “Would you like me to remove it?” he whispered.

     The man nodded with a whimper.

     “Fear drives the common man to make quick decisions, lest he rot away and die.  You made the right choice!”

     Scarecrow slammed the man down on his back and sprayed him with fear gas again.  He then gestured for his followers to come forward.  “The true face of fear must be acknowledged!  This new world will quake in terror at our actions!”

     One of the followers gestured toward the victim, a large ornate plague doctor mask on his face.  “And what about the little man here?  He looks like he’s about to piss himself.”

     “Believe me, he already has.”  Scarecrow took the follower’s hand and placed the nails in it.  “Lash him up and place him outside!  He’ll be the first of many.”

     “Lash him up?”

     Scarecrow turned to address the crowd around him, his victim still screaming in in terror.  “Destroy him from the inside out.  Tatter his clothes, tear his hair… leave him to the crows!”

     The follower nodded then gestured toward another man next to him, not looking away from Scarecrow.  “Get us a hammer and rope.”

     The other follower nodded and scurried away.  The crowd surged forward with a chorus of yells and whistles and attacked the victim.  Scarecrow stood back and laughed, raising his arms in the air.  He then grew silent and leaned back, letting all the chaos consume him.


	15. Feet of Clay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 of No Man's Land

            Jim kept his gaze fixed on the precinct entrance in front of him.  A dozen or so police officers worked around him, going about their business as usual.  All of them were tired and worn down, some even to the point where they took small naps at their desk.  Most of them were so absorbed with their tasks that Jim was left alone to his thoughts.  He rolled the pen on the desk in front of him to the point where the pen handle made scratches on the wooden surface.

            He wanted someone to walk in with good news, someone to declare something from the government.  It had been four days since the bridges fell and there was nothing from the higher-ups.  The generator Lucius installed in the precinct did its job extremely well but all the stations and television channels were down.  No new news from the outside.  Jim often imagined the screens showing the destruction of Gotham from the outside with the blaring title of something along the lines of “GOTHAM IN PERIL” or “GOTHAM SEPARATED.”  It was cynical of him to speak ill of the situation but part of his brain took the pleasure in snarking at the media.  Valerie Vale would have found it humerous.

            Someone snapped their fingers in his face, dragging him out of his thoughts.  “Earth to Jim.”

            Jim shook his head and looked up, rubbing his mouth.  “Hey Harvey.  Any word?”

            “Nada.  It’s like… nothing’s going on.  Everyone’s quiet.”  Harvey pulled up a chair and sat next to him, crossing his arms.  “Harper’s established a border near Chinatown and we’ve heard nothing from Cobblepot either.”

            “What about Freeze, Firefly, the others?  Jeremiah?”

            “Honestly, no one really likes bringing up that guy’s name anymore unless absolutely necessary.”  Harvey replied with a hushed tone, taking a quick look around.  “But to answer your question, there’s nothing.  The guy’s the most wanted criminal in Gotham and he vanishes without a trace.  Freeze and Firefly are up north in Burnley and the Bowery.  Everyone’s calling that general area ‘The Dark Zone.’”

            “Little trite, don’t you think?”

            “What, were you expecting something in French then?  Gothic maybe?  Maybe we’ll contact Hugo Strange for a cool moniker-”

            “All right, all right, I get your point.”  Jim raised his hand defensively for a second then placed it back down on his elbow.  “No contact from outside?”

            Harvey sighed, sinking down slightly in his seat.  “No.  You still daydreaming toward the doorway again?”

            “What?”

            “I see you doing that a lot.  You’re just waiting for someone to waltz in with good news?”

            He opened his mouth to protest but closed it, looking back toward the precinct entrance again with a sigh.  “I’m a hopeful man.”

            Harvey got up from his seat and wandered over to Jim’s desk.  He set his hat down on the chair and unfolded the map on the desktop.  “Well at least we can update this thing now.  Jim, come over here and grab that gel pen for me.”

            Jim removed said pen from Harvey’s desk and tossed it over to his partner.  Harvey caught it without taking his eyes away then began marking on the map.  “Mr. Freeze in the _Bowery_ …”

            Something rang loudly in the captain’s office.  Both men promptly looked up.

            “Uh, what the hell was that?”  Harvey asked.

            Jim shook his head.

            It rang again.

            “That better not be that damn generator.”

            “It’s not that…”

            It rang once more.

            Jim got up from his seat and walked into his office.  He stopped in the doorway and listened to the noise again.  His gaze immediately tracked it toward some of the larger boxes on the other side of the small room.  Jim walked over and removed them form on top of the old filing cabinets.  The sound beeped again.  He froze.  Carefully sliding the box labeled “ESSEN” aside, he opened the box in front of him and looked inside.  A small black metal box sat inside with a blinking blue light sitting on top.  The rubber black pedal was coated in fine dust and the cord was plugged into a small portable battery, which showed all three green bars.  Jim removed the device and stood up, walking over to his desk.  He sat down in his seat and set the device in front of him.  After he straightened the cord and set the battery on the wooden tea plate on his desk top, he sat back in his seat.  “Give me something.”

            The device beeped again.

_Dot dash dash dash dot dot dash dash_

            Jim slowly sat up.

            _Dot dash dash dash dot dot dash dash_

            “It’s Morse Code…” Jim quickly went through his desk drawers and pulled out a notepad and pencil.  He scooted forward in his chair and began transcribing the next message that beeped through:

IT IS ME HARVEY DENT

            Jim paused, dropping his pencil.  He then slowly picked it back up and ran a hand over his mouth in shock.

            Another message came through:

I AM OFF THE ISLAND WHAT HAPPENED

            Jim tapped out a response:

TERRORISM BRIDGES COLLAPSED AND WE GOT CUT OFF FROM MAINLAND GOVERNMENT STILL TO SEND HELP

            He wrote down his part of the conversation then ran over to the door.  “Morse code!  It’s Dent!”

            “As in _District Attorney_ Dent?”  Harvey asked.  “Well where the hell has he been all this time?!?”

            “That’s what I’m gonna ask next-“

            Another message began to come through.  Jim sprinted back to his desk and wrote the message down:

I STILL HAVE ACCESS TO SOME HIGHER UP OFFICIALS LET ME HELP YOU

            Jim let out a sigh of relief.

            Harvey walked into the office and leaned back against the doorframe.  “So you’re telling me that you had this little machine do-hicky this entire time and you never thought of using it for anything else until now?  That could have helped out like… a lot.”

            “Harvey used to send me details about court cases concerning some people I arrested.  He always wanted me in on them even though I wasn’t allowed inside the courtroom.”

            “…you’re both like little kids passing notes in class.”

            Jim began to chuckle when another message came through:

IS IT BAD

            Jim scoffed then tapped out his reply:

LOW ON EVERYTHING POWER LIMITED GANGS EVERYWHERE PERPETRATOR MIA

            Not even a minute later, Dent replied:

YEAH I AM GETTING YOU HELP

            Jim added:

WE ARE GETTING BY BRUCE WAYNE HAS PROMISED TO HELP WITH RELIEF EFFORTS

            He paused, lifting his finger off the pedal for a moment.  He then tapped out another message:

HOW ARE YOU DENT WE COULD USE YOU HERE

            “What did you say to him?”  Harvey asked.

            Jim wrote down his last message then handed the notepad to Harvey.  There was a long moment of silence between the two men as they waited for another message to come through.  Harvey handed Jim back the notepad and pulled up a chair in front of the desk.

            A reply came through:

I AM WELL I PROPOSED TO GRACE A FEW WEEKS BACK

            Jim paused.  He vaguely remembered meeting Dent’s girlfriend at some point in time.  She was much shorter than him, with wavy blonde hair that fell to her shoulders and soft blue eyes.  She was the newly appointed stenographer for a judge outside of Gotham at the time.  He also remembered that Dent had been utterly smitten with her.

            He sent his response:

CONGRATULATIONS

            His mind reeled back to his interrogation by the City Hall lawyers a few years ago.  He remembered sitting at the end of a very long table, Dent sitting at the other end.  Other prosecutors sat nearby, staring down at Jim through their reading glasses with cold, emotionless faces.  They shared that trait with the former Commissioner Loeb.

            “She had informed me earlier that day that she was pregnant.”  He remembered saying.  There was no way he could ever forget that.

            Dent had looked up from his notes to give Jim a sympathetic nod and smile.  “Congratulations.”

            Another message came through:

I CANT STAY FOR LONG GOT THINGS TO DO BUT I WILL REACH THE GOVERNMENT PRONTO

            Jim gave a faint smile then rested his arms on the desk in exhaustion.  He then scooted his chair forward a little more and sent out his last message:

THANK YOU HARVEY SAY HI TO GRACE FOR ME

            He turned off the machine then placed it at the front of the desk.  Harvey let out a sigh, fiddling with his hands on the desk.  “Would a few rounds help?”

            Jim nodded.  “I can go for that.”

            Harvey went over to the file cabinets and pulled out a large glass bottle of whiskey, hefting it up for Jim to see.  “I am… the best legal hoarder… you have ever seen.”

            Jim chuckled.  His partner poured him a half cup and placed it down in front of him.  Before Harvey sat back down, he downed it in one go and sighed, rubbing his thumb down the side of his cup.  “You’re gonna start running out of that soon.  Ready for that?”

            Harvey sat down.  “I could get a dollar every time you had said some variation of that and I will never be ready.”

            “You’d be a very rich man then.”

            “All my life.”

            Harvey took Jim’s cup and filled it back up then nodded toward the Morse machine.  “What do you think of Dent getting help?”

            Jim let out a slow huff through his nose.  “Like I said, I’m a hopeful man.”

            The older detective screwed the lid back on the bottle and set it down on the floor next to his feet.  “To sound like a broken record, Dent’s out of the city.  How do you think he’s gonna convince the government for help?  The state definitely hasn’t shown up and oh yeah, we can’t communicate with anybody else outside.”

            “Lucius is working on obtaining parts to make radio communication with the outside.”

            Harvey clapped his hands awkwardly and poured himself another cup.  “What if that won’t work either?”

            Jim frowned.  “Harvey…”

            “Think about it.  Some madman, who is currently on the run with several charges over his head, blew up the bridges and disconnected us from everyone else.  He is the known biological twin of a previous psychopath that had taken out Gotham’s entire power unit in order to have a torture circus at Amusement Mile.  We are known for having one of the highest crime rates in the area-“

            “That’s no excuse for us to try.  We can’t blame the actions of one person on an entire population.”

            “I know that, Jim.  I am just… asking you to consider any and all possibilities.”

            “The possibility that Gotham won’t be reaccepted into the country?  The government won’t allow that.  We’re not seceding, which is something _I_ will absolutely not think about.”

            “I’m not thinking about that either, Jim!  I’m not a fan of this situation either and I am behind you in every way.  I just don’t want my partner to crash and burn trying to do too much.”

            “What do you mean ‘ _crash and burn’_?”

            “You trying to do something and it somehow all goes wrong.  Not to dig the knife deeper, but… that’s happened.  Honestly, both of us are guilty of that.”

            Jim sighed and sat back in his seat.  “I’m sorry.  I do not want us to experience that again.  I… especially don’t want to do that to you again.  You’re my partner, Harvey.”

            Harvey smiled.  “What, are we getting married or something?”

            Jim chuckled.  “Maybe this so-called booze of yours is taking me in.”

            His partner swished his drink around in his cup.  “That’s because I know what I’m drinking.  You’re just a lightweight.  But…”  Harvey sat forward.  “…in all seriousness, watch yourself, Jim.  Don’t go sticking your nose into more trouble than you should.”

            “…I’ll try.  No promises.”

            Jim watched warily as Harvey leaned forward to slap the desk in approval.  His eyes glanced toward the open door, towards the precinct entrance. 

            To his dismay, no one came in.


	16. Mother

            Ivy Pepper despised the rain.

            She remembered as a child becoming ill during a thunderstorm in Gotham.  She had tucked her frail little body under a self-made fort in an alley.  Stray animals had tried burrowing themselves in with her but she kicked or threw them out.  The smell of mildew became all too familiar to her and her lungs grew heavy with bronchitis.  She spat and coughed out phlegm to the point where she thought she had coughed her esophagus up.  The pharmacy was about five blocks away but she didn’t have the strength to hike all the way there.  Part of her just wanted to curl up and die.

            That was when _she_ came in.  With short, curly hair and the smell of cat food still lingering on her fingers, Selina swooped in to save the day.  Wrapping her in a freshly stolen coat, she had escorted Ivy to Barbara Kean’s apartment, where they ate like queens and obtained new clothes for themselves.  She never approved of half of her friend’s plans; she said that they were too dangerous and too risky.

            Then Selina had to ruin everything by destroying the rest of the Lazarus water.  In front of her.  Thank God she didn’t know where the little bitch was at the moment because she would have turned her insides out with plant matter.  Even then, the city did not offer much in terms of organic… _anything_.  Fires burned everywhere she walked and many of the rich people who stayed behind decided to camp out in the tallest buildings still left standing.  The air stunk of sewage and trash.  The house Ivy had used to reside in grew dark and small.  The lights that gave her beautiful plants life died and the fresh water they drank became brown and smelled of egg water.  Soon after, she found herself back on the street.  Her wet hair stuck to her face and her wet gold knit midi dress felt like she was wearing a wet diaper almost 24/7.  All the fancy heels she had grown so accustomed to became useless so she left all but one of them behind.  All she had with her was a small briefcase, the only thing she could find.  So that was what being dumped and kicked out of a house felt like…

            Ivy stopped at an open window next to her.  She cast a quick warm breath on her hand and caressed the dead roses in the windowsill.  The roses leaned toward her touch and began to nuzzle her hand, wrapping their outer petals around her index finger.  Ivy let out a sad sigh and let the plants reach forward and touch her face.  “Your poor things… this world is too much for you.”

            One of the roses let out a cooing noise, a shrill whine, and tried to wedge itself between her fingers.

            “They can toss you aside as much as they like…”  Ivy cooed back.  “…but we grow back.  Just give us the time.”

            A deafening noise silenced her thoughts.  The roses shrieked in terror and yanked themselves away from her.  Ivy let out a gasp of shock as the pot wobbled away from the windowsill.  She deftly grabbed it before it fell over and repositioned it on the shelf.  Leaning down and picking up a brick beside her, she weakly threw it toward the window beside her.  “How is no one else besides me hearing this?!?”

            No one answered.  Either everyone ignored her- an obvious answer due to her status- or… everyone fled previously.

            The noise happened again.  Whatever it was, it was… definitely _not_ human.  Or of an animal.  It sounded much older, as if something was rumbling from beneath her.

            She looked around slowly then paused as the noise continued.  A strange chill went down her spine.  Her legs tingled as if they had been woken from an abrupt sleep.  Her skin grew warm as she tried to take another step forward.  Goosebumps grew on her arms.  Brushing her hair out of her face, Ivy exhaled in pain.  She then suddenly closed her eyes as her face scrunched up in pain.  She began to see stars and stripes and quickly opened her eyes again.

            “OK…”  Ivy muttered.  “Not normal at all.”

            Something brushed by her ankle.  Ivy immediately leaped back, snapping her high heel in the process.

            A long thick black vine slithered by.  Small tendrils sticking out from it dragged themselves through the cracks in the pavement.  It paused as another roar rumbled through.

            Ivy reached down and placed her hand on top of it.  The vine froze under her touch.  After a long moment of silence, it arched toward her hand like a cat then continued to slither away.

            Without a moment of hesitation, Ivy decided to follow it.  She ripped off what remained of her shoes and tossed them behind her.  As another roar occurred, she placed her hand on the wall beside her and paused when the stone began to vibrate.

            Earthquakes never happened in Gotham.  Never.  The worst the city would get would be flooding up to two feet on the major roads.  Droughts have occurred every so often and the last hurricane was about fifty years ago.

            Maybe with the psychos taking down the bridges out of Gotham, this was something _new_.

            The vine perched itself onto a water spout and turned back toward her.  As if it was waiting on her.

            “All right!  I’m comin’!”  Ivy replied.  “Hold on _a second_ …”

            She adjusted her hold on her suitcase and followed the plant.  The vine slithered down an alley, expertly avoiding the rubble in its way.  Ivy felt her heartbeat accelerate in excitement and she could not help but smirk.  The smog that hung in the air failed to bother her.  The vine found its way into the middle of an abandoned road and dropped down into a small crack.  Ivy immediately stopped to check both sides of the road then groaned.  “Right, _nobody_ would be crazy enough to drive right now-“

            Another roar happened.  This time it was shrill and painful.  Ivy covered her ears then froze as the roar softened into a hurt coo.  The crack in the road moved as if it had a mouth and pointed itself toward her, letting out a mournful wail.

            Ivy looked around balefully then approached the road.  The crack shrank back into its natural state.  She paused then knelt down.  She cautiously reached a hand out and let her fingertips graze the road.  “I can hear you.  Speak to me.”

            The loud groaning noise happened again, this time ringing in her ear.  She closed her eyes for a moment to register the sound then caressed the ground.  “I hear your pain.  How can I help you?”

            The ground below her began to rumble.  Ivy looked around wildly in shock.  The empty trash bins around her tumbled over, spilling garbage.  The puddles nearby began to vibrate, sending drops of mud in her direction.  Small rocks bounced up and down around her.  She placed her hand on the ground and closed her eyes.  The rumbling grew louder and louder.  Her ears began to ring painfully. 

            The ground swallowed her whole.  It opened its giant maw and sucked her in, wrapping roots around her wrists and ankles and streams of clay around her waist.  She tried to scream but roots reached into her mouth and held it open.  The taste of sap and sugar water consumed her and filled her up.

            Everything grew dark.  The roots around her wrists slowly unwound themselves, scraping her tender skin.  Her mouth relaxed closed as the rest of the roots removed themselves from her.  She forced herself to swallow the nectar in her mouth and looked around at the vast emptiness.

            She felt like she was floating in the air.  Her long red hair flowed behind her and her dress looked as if it was caught in an imaginary breeze.  A strange combination of odors reached her nose:  citrus, decay, mud, others she could not identify.  She felt a strange warmth rise to her cheeks and she tried to touch them.  What confused her the most was that she did not hear anything.

            She clucked her tongue as loud as possible.  Nothing.

            She tried whistling as if she was summoning a cab.  Still nothing.

            Something under her moved.  She felt her body contort into a sitting position, the bones in her spine popping.  Her ears began to pop from the pressure of being… wherever she was.  Yet, she felt as if she had crawled out of that plant shell again:  clean and whole.

            Another jolt of warmth traveled up her chest as a small beam of light appeared in her lap.  Ivy glimpsed up toward where the sky would have been and gasped in relief.

            _Sunlight_!

            She felt herself float up toward the light source.  Closing her eyes, she let herself go…

            Her lungs suddenly felt heavy in her chest and she began to see black and white waves.

            She then fell onto something hard with a tremendous thump.  What the hell-

            She immediately emerged and sat up, quickly ripping out the clumps of dirt from her mouth.  Ivy took a deep breath and rung the water out of her hair.  She flicked the mud off her hands and sighed, sitting back against the stone column.  Sunlight trickled in from the grated ceiling above her, casting shadows in the water around her.  A faint breeze blew through, making the hair in her face fall back over her cowlick.  She began to close her eyes and sleep when something bumped her.

            Her suitcase floated around her.  Wisteria vines reached up over the stone and dragged it up and over, away from the water.  It plopped onto the ground with a resounding thud.  Ivy watched as the vines creeped back up and perked its tendrils toward her attentively.

            She patted her hands at the bottom of the fountain in resignation.  “Well that’s _definitely_ new.”   

            She slowly stood up and stepped out of the fountain, picking up her dress behind her.  She stripped off her ruined brown coat and tossed it over one of the low walls to the side.  The wisteria vines reached toward her feet and began picking dirt off them.  Letting out a soft moan, she stretched her arms out above her.  Something began trickling down her arms.  She let out a gasp of shock and tried backing away but the vines continued their journey down.  They wrapped themselves around her wrists and weaved back and forth between the holes in her dress sleeves.  Once they reached her shoulders, they broke off, inching their way back up to the ceiling.

            Ivy held her arms out in front of her and let out an appreciative hum.  “Coral honeysuckle sleeves… neat.”  She then paused and looked around.  “What do you need from me?  How can I help you?”

            The moonflower vines on the wall next to her began to rustle.  Ivy turned toward them as they slithered down toward an old sign tagged with unintelligible graffiti.  Some of the vines curved toward the floor as others made zigzag motions toward each other.  She then realized that they were trying to spell something.  Her heart stopped when they managed to form a heartbreaking word: 

PAIN

            The leaves twisted to make a trio of new words:

CARE FOR ME

            She openly cried, sinking to her knees.  The dirt around her blew away and the vines crawled on the floor toward her.  The black vine who led her reached up and wiped away one of the tears on her lips in a comforting manner.  The honeysuckle for her sleeves waved on her arm and began to hum.  Ivy sniffed mournfully and placed her open hands on her knees.  “You’re all _so lovely_ … why will no one else _care_ … why am I only the only one…”

            A new vine, a beautiful trumpet vine, sat up toward her and touched her nose.  She let out a sigh and closed her eyes, letting the plant nuzzle her.  “I’ve never felt this much love from the humans who ignore you.  Thank you…”

            The moonflower vines jittered in agreement.

            She slowly got back onto her feet and ran her hand along the wall, the wisteria vines looping themselves into the back of her dress to make a flowery train behind her.  Ivy smiled and kissed the purple petals of a clematis vine that crawled down and perched itself on her shoulder.  “We can make this work…”


	17. Climate Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 of No Man's Land

            There was another hole in the fence.  It was the second time that week.

            Victor Fries sighed and stepped through the hole, noting the melted chunks dangling precariously near his suit and the smell of something burning.  “For Heaven’s sake…” 

            He stopped for a moment to adjust the temperature in his suit.  Once the familiar chilly gust hit his cheeks, he fixed his goggles and hefted his gun over his shoulder.  Off to battle.  Again. 

            His armor clanged and hissed around him as he walked into his fortress.  All the lights were turned on for some reason and some of the icicles around the old plumbing had begun to melt.  Frozen stalagtites were significantly smaller and a perfect melted circle penetrated the thick icy wall.

            “You know, usually when people put up thick iron fences and signs that say “Beware of Dog,” they tend to obey.”  He ranted aloud.

            He strode into the plaza and used his freeze gun to put out a small fire.  Smoke curled into the air and the smell of burning metal filled his nostrils to the point where he almost gagged. 

            The intruder inside scoffed.  “So I’m the dangerous dog in this scenario right?  Subtle.”

            “Subtlety was never your forte so I decided to take up the mantle.”

            Firefly sat patiently on top of a large pile of wooden crates, flicking at a small flame from her flamethrower with her fingers.  She gently blew it out then looked down at Freeze.  “Well hello there, Freeze.  Thought you weren’t going to come today.”

            “This is my territory, Miss Pike.  You don’t see me making holes in your fencing.”

            “Nooo… because I have about six guards placed every ten feet.”  Firefly looked around.  “I only saw like two guys so if anything, _that_ ’s on you.”  She leaned toward him with a mischievous grin.  “You’re not quitting on me, are ya, Freeze?”

            “Quite the opposite.”

            The young woman sighed and stood up, adjusting the fuel tank on her back.  “Remember the score from last time?”

            Freeze paused.  “I wasn’t aware we _were_ keeping score.  We usually do our snarking then duel it out.”

            “Hmm… that’s a shame.  I need to start doing that.”  Firefly let out a triumphant giggle as she twisted the nozzle on the fuel valve and readied her finger on the safety catch.  “I’m obviously in the lead so… good luck on catching back up.”

            Her flamethrower roared to life.  Freeze immediately swung his gun into his hand and fired back.  Ice sprayed onto the crates and crept upward with a hiss.  Firefly vaulted off them with a cackle and somersaulted onto the ground, tucking her flamethrower under her.  She skidded to a stop near him and turned on her weapon again.  Freeze clumsily skipped away from the blaze that danced near his feet and sent a spiky wave of ice toward his opponent.  She ran toward a sandbag wall and leaped over it, sliding down to the floor.

            Firefly peeked over and quickly ducked her head as an ice beam barely missed her head.  “Hey, popsicle… wanna remind me what happened last time this happened?”

            “Literally the same thing we’re doing right now.”  Freeze groaned, ducking behind a concrete wall.  “Same old song and dance.”

            “… _Wwwow_.  Talk about a buzzkill.”

            “I want you to leave me alone like the cold hearted neighbor I am, you want to rile up trouble, we fight over something stupid, and we leave after a good twenty minutes of back and forth.  Semantics.” 

            “… Didn’t I actually _burn_ some of that stupid action figure helmet of yours off last time?”

            “Did you take lessons from Jerome while he was still alive?  You didn’t talk nearly as much the first time we fought.”  Freeze taunted, reloading his gun.

            “Honestly, I only met the guy like four or five times.”  Firefly fired another stream of fire then sank back down, adjusting the fuel hose near her hip.  “Not really sure if he was hitting on me after that brunch meeting... could never really tell…”  She peeked back up to watch the cold air rise from Mr. Freeze as he tried to adjust his position.  Letting out a huff of determination, she flicked off the safety and hopped up onto the top of the wall. 

            “Let me guess… gingers aren’t your type?”

            With that remark, Freeze felt a hot stream of fire shoot out almost four feet in front of him.  He braced his gun against his hip and got back up, firing back.  Both of their beams collided with each other and sent an aftershock that pushed them back.  Firefly managed to hop down from the wall without falling backwards and skidded toward him.  “Hey ice cube!”

            She twisted the igniter and shot at the scaffolding above him.  Freeze immediately pulled a metal orb from his belt and bounced it on the ground.  The orb exploded, creating a stalagmite that stopped the falling support.

            “Anything else I can do for ya, big guy?”

            Freeze chucked an orb at her.  “How about you leave me alone for once?  Burn something else?”

            The ice hissed as it crept up toward her but she leaped away from it.  “Mmm… that’s a negative.”

            Her enthusiasm dampened when she realized where she was.  The amount of stalagmites Freeze kept chucking at her forced her into a corner- literally.  She used her flamethrower to create small divots in the one in front of her then climbed up it.  Once she balanced herself, Firefly hopped toward the tunnel where she entered. 

            Freeze reloaded his gun and fired at the caged ceiling lights above her.  He let out a happy hum as the lights shattered part of Firefly’s path toward him.  What he didn’t expect was the young woman hopping up on one foot and flipping over him. 

            Firefly knew she wasn’t quite as flexible as other people she knew.  But she knew how to do a pretty damn decent backflip.

            “ _Hey_.”

            As soon as she landed back on her feet behind him, she burned the back of his suit.  Metal began to curl toward her under the extreme heat and something creaked loudly.  Freeze let out a yell of pain and fell to his knees.  He let out a hiss of anger and rolled another metal orb toward her.  She began to swing her foot forward to kick it back at him but the orb exploded, sending icy spikes flying towards her.  She flew backwards and slammed against a building support, making her stumble toward the tunnel.  “ _Not cool_.”

            Freeze got down on one knee and aimed his gun.  The exhaust fumes from his suit filled his ear and his frosted gloves crunched as he pulled the trigger.  A large beam of ice sprayed out, making Firefly skate backwards near the melted fence.  She let out a shaky gasp and aimed her flamethrower at him.

            The beams collided again.  Freeze got back onto his feet and walked forward.  Firefly planted her feet and tightened her grip on the hose, gritting her teeth.  She let out an indignant yell and wrenched the beam toward the floor.  Once it broke, she fired at him again with a triumphant cackle.

            Freeze rolled out of the way, knocking his gun up near the ceiling.  A large wall of ice crept down toward the floor with a loud, echoing hiss.  On the other side, Firefly felt a large gust of cold wind blast her in the face and knock her on her back.  She quickly adjusted her tank so that it rested on her stomach as she landed.  Letting out a huff, she staggered back onto her feet and walked toward the wall. 

            She let out a puff of hot air on the wall and rubbed a circle on it with her fist, creating a clear circle.  She peered through it for a moment then made the circle bigger.  Once it got to a suitable size, she looked through it again.  “Hey big guy… how’s it faring?”

            Freeze nodded.  “Same as usual.  You?”

            “Mmm, can’t explain.  Stuck here with you north of everything.”  Firefly then gave a pregnant pause and tapped a finger on her flamethrower in thought.  “Got news about something though in the GCPD.  Something about Selina Kyle getting _shot_.  I…”  She looked up at Freeze for a moment and scrunched her nose in thought.  “I’m not sure if I should go see her.”

            “You’re getting personal now?  After all this time?  Our friendship has reached a new low.”

            “Oh shut up!  C’mon… you’re like twenty some years older than me.  We both got people we like.  It’s not like both of us haven’t talked about feelings at some time or another.”

            “My apologies.”

            Firefly sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand.  She let out a gasp and held it up for Freeze to see.  “Look at that.  You know what that is?”

            He scrunched up his nose then scoffed.  “Evidence that I’m ahead by a point.  That’s blood.”

            “That’s never happened before…”  She murmured absentmindedly.

            “Barometric pressure in the tunnel.  I’m surprised that hasn’t happened before.”

            “And it won’t happen again!”

            “Neither will you ruin my suit again.”  Freeze sighed and shook his head.  He adjusted his suit again and placed his red goggles back on his forehead.  “Air is used for your fires, right?”

            “Obviously.  It’s oxygen.”

            He let out an annoyed huff and propped his gun over his shoulder.  “My… late wife had nosebleeds.  Try venting in some air every once in a while to counteract all the heat you’re exposed to.”

            Firefly took a breath.  “…I didn’t know you were married.”

            “Once.”

            “I didn’t know that.”

            “There’s a lot of things we don’t know about each other.”

            “Point taken… She must have been really sick then, huh?”

            “Yes… she was.”

            Firefly nodded then suddenly yawned.  “OK, this is getting sappy.  I’m heading back.”

            Victor nodded then took a step back.  “I agree.  Same time then as usual, I suppose?”

            “...Yep.  That sounds about right.”


	18. And A Universe So Big

           “Good morning, dear.”

            A woman peered over her, grinning.  Her pungent perfume filled her nose and her wide eyes looked huge behind her horn-rimmed glasses.  She wore a white nurse uniform with a red ascot tied around her neck.  Everything looked blurry and saturated:  the ceiling above her was a bright yellow.  The daylight sent bright streaks that scalded her eyes.

            Selina moaned sleepily and tried pushing her away.  “Leave me alone.” 

            She turned her head to the side and closed her eyes again.  Nuzzling her cheek into the pillow, she felt her body relax again.  Her peace didn’t last long; the nurse gently prodded the crook of her elbow.  “I have to wake you up, dear.  It’s time for antibiotics.  Those were Dr. Fable’s orders.”

            The nurse had a familiar quality to her voice; it was almost like a haughty, arrogant sneer. 

            “What the-“  Selina opened her eyes slowly.  “Barbara, I swear to God, that stupid-“

            She locked eyes with the nurse and froze.  She wriggled out of the way and slid halfway off the bed.  The nurse carefully guided her back up and placed her pillow under her head.  “It’s good to see you up, Miss Kyle-“

            Selina shushed her loudly then looked around.  Her chest heaved as she began to hyperventilate.  “What the hell… where am I?”

            “Miss Kyle, you have to calm down.”

            “THEN TELL ME WHERE I AM!”

            “You’re at the relocated Gotham General on the other side of town.  We had to move locations because of the gang wars.”

            All Selina remembered was the clock tower blowing up before she came to Bruce’s aid to rescue Alfred.  And getting shot by Jeremiah.  That ghostly, dandy prick.  She also remembered Bruce at her side as she was rushed into the emergency room, his eyes wide with despair.  For some reason, it felt as if it happened ages ago.  “What…”

            “I’m gonna sit you up so that you can take some antibiotics for the day.  Just hold my hand.”

            She watched suspiciously as the nurse walked over to her IV monitor.  The nurse carefully rapped the vial, letting some of the air bubbles in the fluid pop, and then replaced the IV bag.  Selina let the woman lift up her arm to fix her lead then yanked her hand away.  She let her arm drop and she tried looking around.  She rubbed her hands then paused, looking down at herself.  “Where are my clothes?”

            “There’s in a little cubicle under your bed.”  The nurse wrapped an arm around her lower back and sat her up, carefully sitting behind her and resting her shoulder on her back.

            Selina grew very confused.  “…Why are you-“

            The nurse gave her a medicine cup full of pills.  “There you go.  Miss Kyle, do you remember what happened?”

            She hesitantly took the pills and accepted the nurse’s cup of water.  “…I got shot by a maniac.”

            Oh, the multiple ways she could kill him.  If only she could get her hands around the man’s arrogant neck…

            The nurse nodded.  She carefully lowered Selina back onto the bed.  “Oh!  I do have to warn you, we did have to remove some glass shards from your back during the surgery.  Some of the pieces were embedded and beginning to become infected.  Some of the pills you just took also help with that.  You should be infection free in about three days’ time.”  She added brightly.

            She had to give the nurse some sort of credit in attempting to alleviate the situation.  Selina rubbed at her eye.  “…I don’t remember a table…”

            “Mr. Wayne informed the surgeon that you fell through one when you got shot.”

            She instinctively dropped her hands down to her stomach and felt the edges of the heavy bandages.  Selina looked around for the door then attempt to sit herself up.  “Could I at least see the damage-“

            “Miss Kyle, I don’t recommend doing that.”

            Selina mouthed mockingly at her then promptly fell out of her bed, taking her heavy blanket with her.  She placed her elbows under herself and tried moving her feet.  Her legs felt heavy and useless behind her.  The nurse bent down and reached her arms out to help her but Selina swatted them away with a hiss.  “I can get up myself!”

            The nurse looked as if she was about ready to burst into tears.  Selina paused at her reaction then tried reaching up at the leg of her bed.  The heavy blanket behind her bumped the cubicle nearby and one of her boots fell loudly onto her ankles, causing her to look back.

            She didn’t feel anything.  Not the boot and definitely not the blanket.  A split second later, she realized she didn’t even feel her legs hit the floor when she rolled out of bed.

            Selina slowly turned toward the nurse, quivering in anger.  “What happened to me?”

            “Miss Kyle, let’s just take this one step at a time-“

            “Why can’t I feel anything?!?”  Selina managed to reach up and grab the comforter of her bed.  Her fear was confirmed when she tried to pull herself up.  Her legs did nothing.  “Why can’t I walk?”

            The nurse sniffed.  “Miss Kyle, I’m afraid to be the one to tell you this-“

            “What?!?  _THAT I CAN’T WALK_?!?”  Selina roared.  “Doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out!”

            The door to the hospital room slammed open.  “ _Selina_!”

            Bruce ran into the room, throwing his dark trench coat on the chair next to her bed.  The nurse immediately took a large step back from the young billionaire.  Before Selina could scream at the nurse, he knelt down and wrapped her in a hug so tight she forgot how to breathe.  Carefully lifting her up to eye level, he planted his chin in the crook of her neck and carefully placed his arms around her, closing his eyes with a shudder.  Selina paused for a moment and closed her eyes.  She was never on the receiving end when it came to hugs from Bruce- usually she hugged him- and this one felt… great.  She slowly nuzzled the side of his temple with her cheek, making him let out a sad sigh.

            The moment was too brief for the both of them; Bruce let go of her and lifted her back onto the bed.  “Selina, I’m so sorry I haven’t been here to-“

            Her demand came as a plea.  “Why can’t I walk?”

            Bruce froze in horror.

            “ _Why can’t I walk?!?_ ”

            Something in Bruce’s attempt to speak rubbed her the wrong way.  She felt her mouth drop open in shock and she leaned back away from him.  Once he tried to support her from falling over, she reached over and slapped him hard across the face.

            He flinched.

            Selina paused as the realization flushed over her.  “ _Did you know?!?_ ”

            Bruce froze.  “I was just going to see the doctor and confirm if-“

            “-if what, Bruce?  Just… tell me… _please_ …”

            “Miss Kyle, you’ve been asleep since your surgery almost a week ago.  It was a success but we fear that the damage is permanent.” The nurse replied.  “Mr. Wayne has made it an appointment to visit you every other day.”

            Bruce rubbed his now red cheek and gave the other woman a dirty look. 

            Selina wanted to snap at the nurse for chiming in but she didn’t have enough energy to.  And she hated it.  A sob rose from her throat and she shut her eyes, gritting her teeth.

            “Selina…”

            Bruce sat toward her, his hands knitted on the edge of her bed.  The last time she saw him this nervous, he was forced outside the double doors in Gotham General while she was carted into surgery.  “I- I wanted to tell you and I didn’t want to deliver it q-quite as _bluntly_ but-“

            Selina grabbed his wrist and leaned against his shoulder with a sigh.  Her voice quivered as she spoke.  “Just… stay here with me, OK?”

            Bruce looked down at her hand and then studied her face.  “… _whenever you need me_.”

            Her eyes grew watery and she sniffed into his shoulder.  She hated leaning on him.  She felt mortified that she couldn’t move on her own; even the concept that someone had to help her do stupid things like sit up to take a drink of water made her angry.  She hated not knowing what happened to her.

            Selina propped her cheek up on the edge of his shoulder and looked down at her legs, which dangled uselessly from the bed.

            She hated everything.


	19. Pure Imagination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 of No Man's Land

           Jeremiah had learned the hard way that not everything could go according to plan.  Gordon somehow surviving an exploding bunker was unexpected; he have to give the captain a shriveled up morsel of credit of not knowing when to stop.  Before that, everything went as he predicted it:  Bruce falling for his temporary act of pitiful insanity, Jerome’s body acting as a crutch for said performance, and the bridge bombs exploding at the last minute.  The cultists were doomed to betray him at some point in time so burning them alive shortly after Gordon’s televised return (also unexpected) helped with that.  He usually despised falling back to a Plan B or even a Plan C, but when convenient things occurred and or just so happened to be there, oh how he _loved_ them.

            After his gunshot wound was deemed well enough for him to travel extensively outside, Jeremiah and Ecco went to work establishing a new temporary stronghold.  The move out from the apartment to an abandoned complex in the newly christened Dark Zone at the northern part of the island was a piece of cake.  Only a handful of followers remained faithful to him and insisted on accompanying them as a guard.  Jeremiah had reluctantly agreed.  He was admittedly grateful though for the followers’ complete unease and wariness of the Mummer.  She would help whip them into proper shape.

            Once they arrived, Ecco helped him out of the car and took his brief case.  “This place doesn’t exactly scream ‘Wayne Enterprises’ but it should do.”

            “ _For now_.”

            One of the followers in front of them carefully adjusted the rug on the doorstep then let them in, swiping his coat to the side.

            Ecco let Jeremiah go in first and carefully followed him, adjusting her grip on his case.  She moved to stand beside him, helped him out of his heavy coat, and took off his wide brimmed hat.  “I can prepare one of the rooms for you if you want.”

            “That would be appreciated.”

            She hung up his coat and hat on the standing coat rack then walked further into the house, taking off her coat and folding it over her arm as she went.

            Jeremiah watched her leave the room then adjusted his black leather gloves.  “And _now_ -“

            He paused midsentence.  One of the other followers standing near him had stared after Ecco, his small beady eyes wide.  The man then awkwardly stood at attention and cleared his throat, wiping the drool from his chin.

            Jeremiah gave him an irritated look.  “My hat, if you would.”

            The follower gave him a confused look then carefully took the hat off the rack and placed it in his outstretched hand.  Jeremiah pretended to study it and even bounced it around in the palms of his hands.  He then grabbed it by the brim and smacked the man hard in the face with it.  The top of the hat cracked loudly against the man’s face and the brim snapped in his fingers.  Even the bright green hair dye fallout from the man’s forehead smeared itself onto the suede fabric.

            Jeremiah looked at the damaged hat with a frown then tossed it to the floor.  “I’ll be needing a new hat now thanks to you.  Get out.”

            All the followers quietly left.

            Jeremiah adjusted his suit jacket with an aggravated huff then took a deep breath.  He fixed his tie and his hair then walked down the hallway.  Running his hand along the dusty wall, he took a quick peek in the kitchen nearby then continued.

            A large clear dining table resided in the next room.  Ecco was in there, carefully placing bundles of maps on the glossy wooden tabletop.  She looked up to regard him as he walked in.  Her coat was still draped over her arm and her hair bun was slightly frizzy from the weather outside.  Her white porcelain mask lay on the small inn table next to the entrance.  “There’s another smaller office at the end of the hall.  And an outer sort of recreation place for all of the followers.”

            “How little I have of those idiots…”  Jeremiah grumbled.

            He took a mental note of her silent, solemn nod toward him before she continued.  “Everything else is put away accordingly.  Tools, et cetera.”

            She sidestepped him smoothly as he walked up to the table and began unrolling the maps.

            “Thank you, Ecco.  We must be getting to work quickly.  Would you be so kind as to get me a coffee?”

            “Of course.”

            Jeremiah looked around the workroom, listening as Ecco left.  The room was dark with plum colored walls and a dark grey trim.  The carpet under him- a carpet floor, of all things in a dining room- was an ugly combination of grey, mustard yellow, and red.  The chandelier hung above him, sporting old Edison bulbs that shone a bright yellow.

            He let out a sigh through his nose then continued unrolling one of the maps, grabbing the candlesticks nearby to pin the corners down.  As soon as he reached for the last one, a searing pain shot through his shoulder.  He let out a snarl in frustration and angrily drummed his fingers on the table.

            Ecco entered the room.  “I forgot to add:  I made sure all the rooms were empty just in case though I did find a- your stitches popped…”

            Jeremiah let Ecco come forward and investigate his injury.  He dragged his coffee mug over to him and savored the warm ceramic as she fixed his stitches.  One thing he never realized was how soft her hands were.  They worked with such care and ease- the same pair of hands that did not hesitate when it came to shooting two Wayne employees.

            A solid entrance as a Gotham criminal.

            Ecco carefully replaced the bandage without a word.  She hesitated for a significant amount of time before securing the corners of the bandage on his shoulder.  Once she was done, she delicately fixed his navy suit jacket sleeve and smoothed out the wrinkles on his shoulder.

            “Ecco?”

            “Yes?”

            Jeremiah gave her a knowing look as he sat down at the table.  “You’re not yourself.”

            “I’m…”  Ecco sighed and crossed her arms slightly.  “It’s an adjustment period.  That’s all it is.”

            “Mmm-hmm…”

            To his surprise, she sat in a chair next to him.  He was also surprisingly comfortable at her close proximity to him but he despised her discomfort.

            Ecco sighed.  “Honestly I’m not even sure if I want to discuss it.”

            “And why not?”

            “You’re… busy.”

            “Well you’ve captured my attention for a little bit.”  He leaned back in his seat slightly then gestured for her to go on.  “Pretend you’re lying on a couch and tell me what’s on your mind.  You can always talk to me.”

            She let out an amused huff, her eyes crinkling for a moment, and then shook her head.  “Can’t really imagine you being a psychiatrist-”

            “ _Tell me_.”

            He watched her expression change back to its characteristic neutral and took a silent note of the way she became quiet.  She rubbed her hands in front of her on the table and let out another sigh.  “The bridges are gone and I don’t feel… the same.”

            “Continue.”

            “This may be what some people call a… identity crisis.”  The staccato, slow way she said the last phrase was humorous but that was not her intention.

            “Why?  We still work together in a sense, however ‘unprofessional’ it may seem.  I don’t see-” Jeremiah began then stopped to stare at her.  He let out a soft “ _Ah_ ” and rose an eyebrow at her, trying not to scoff in confusion.  “Are you saying you’ve lost your mind?”

            Ecco blinked at him.  “What do you suppose?”

            He sat back in his seat then leaned towards her.  “An adjustment period would be the layman’s term of it.”

            Ecco slowly nodded then sighed again.  “Right.”

            “Perhaps… you just need to find that new identity.  Jerome gave me what I thought was the worst day of my life but it helped me greatly.  I have a new purpose now.  Bruce Wayne’s life is mine to pick apart bit by bit.  Gotham is now destroyed and we get to be left alone to play in its… rotting ruins.”

            He let out a small giggle to himself then cleared his throat.  He then began to get up then stopped, raising a finger in the air.  “When you do finally come to… let me know.  Change is an inevitability.  You’re evolving.”

            Another manic giggle burst out, making one of his eyes watery.  He immediately cleared his throat then stared at the map below him, his fingernails digging into the table.  He despised having to control a symptom while having company.

            Ecco didn’t question it, which he found wise and thankful for.  “I will… thank you.  I’ll leave you to your work then.”

            Jeremiah listened to her walk behind him to leave.  When she reached the entrance of the room, he heard the familiar crisp scrape of her mask being picked up.  He took that opportunity to look up and rap on the table to get her attention again.  “And make sure no one is screwing anything up in your care.  I’m trusting that you can get them to behave?”

            Ecco stopped in the doorway then turned to face him.  He stared her down, his eyes narrowing slightly in concern.  She gave a confident smirk and lowered her mask back over her face as she backed out of the room.  “Of course you can.”


	20. Upon This Rock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 of No Man's Land

            Jim and Lucius trudged toward the abandoned building, the latter holding an umbrella above their heads as the torrential rain hit them hard.  Jim looked behind them cautiously.  His teeth chattered in the cold weather and he crossed his arms against his chest to secure any warmth his coat provided him.“Is this the place you were talking about?”

            “Yep.  We’ll be out of this mess momentarily, Captain.”

            Lucius jiggled the rusted doorknob loose then pushed the door open with his shoulder.  Jim automatically went to his side and rammed his shoulder against it as well.  After two tries, the door finally opened.  He stepped in first and tried flicking on the overhead lights.

            Half of the room lit up, to his relief. 

Lucius shook off his umbrella and propped it up against the wall.  He let out a sigh and looked around.  “According to the old maps, this used to be an old sanitarium.  Then it was turned into an apartment complex once tuberculosis was officially declared gone from Gotham and the area was cleaned quite thoroughly.”

            Jim walked further into the room.  Marble fleur-de-lis reliefs covered the walls as well the columns, which had been wrapped in peeling faded white wallpaper.  An old black iron elevator sat in the middle of one of the connected rooms.  The black-and-white vinyl floor below him was covered in large scuff marks and old stains.  He swiped his finger along the wall beside him and looked at the thick layer of dust before wiping it off.

            “By the looks of it, I’m guessing everyone cleared out when Jeremiah threatened to blow up the city a week ago.”

            He froze.  _It had only been a week_.  He rubbed his mouth with his hand, letting out a resigned huff. 

            Something about the complex struck him as interesting.  The old smell of food filled the room.  A large half-circle window sat up near the ceiling, its aluminum circular design covered in cobwebs.  The rain loudly hit the roof above and pattered on the window, the sound echoing in the room.

            Jim paused.  “Wait I know this place…”

            Lucius gave him an intrigued look as he walked over to one of the other rooms.  A small chandelier hung precariously from a rusting chain, half of its white Edison lightbulbs flickering.  Everything just seemed so… familiar.

            Jim picked up an old box and looked at the old purple-and-yellow label:  **GOTHAM UNIVERSITY PARISH CATHOLIC CHURCH**

            He had definitely remembered this place.

            Lee had stood at one of the plastic white tables a long time ago, wearing a light brown apron over a long black dress.  A silk blue-and-white tie decorated her neck.  Her dark brown hair was growing longer and curlier at the ends.  Her pregnant bump was beginning to show.  She stood out among the university students that had volunteered along with her.

            She had smiled when she saw him walk into the room.  Her eyes twinkled with amusement as she poured him a bowl of soup in a white dish.  “On the house, Detective.”

            Jim took a deep breath as the memory faded and carefully set the box back down.  “I’ve been here before.  Lee volunteered here once.  There was a lot of soup kitchens and food donation events here.”  He turned back toward Lucius, who still stood near the door.  “Do you think this place can be used again?”

            Lucius stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked toward him.  “I suppose… why, what’s your strategy?”

            Jim looked around then stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked into an adjacent room.  He reached his hand up and tore off some of the decaying wallpaper.  “Do we have a headcount on many refugees there are at the GCPD?”

            “You… want to turn this _back_ into a safe house?”

            “A safe haven.  You said this used to be an apartment complex.”  Jim commented, gesturing toward the room in front of them.  “We can transport the beds down here and bunk them.  All this place needs is… everything else.”

            Lucius slowly nodded in agreement then cleared his throat.  “I can see if Mr. Wayne could apply some assistance.  Wayne Enterprises has extra technology that can help.”

            Jim nodded silently.

            “Actually, any word from Bruce?”

            “He and Alfred are securing an abandoned apartment somewhere in the Green Zone.  Right now, I think their main concern is Selina Kyle.”

            “And Miss Kyle?  How is she doing?”

            “She’s awake.”

            “That’s good to hear.”  Lucius turned to pick his umbrella back up from next to the door.  “ _Well_ … I don’t want to delay you anymore, Jim, so do we wanna think about heading back?”

            “Yeah… just a second…”  Jim walked toward an antique cabinet that sat in the corner and opened it.  A set of old folded shirts sat on one of the shelves along with dull blue and green terry towels. “Lucius, can you get me that box with the Gotham University label I was looking at?”

            Lucius brought the box over to him as he knelt down.  Jim dusted out the bottom of the cardboard box and carefully laid the towels and shirts down in it.  He closed it up and slowly closed the cabinet door.  Before he got back up, he looked back at the room behind him.

            He could still imagine Lee there, helping the people of Gotham who needed it.  She always had a headstrong opinion when it came to that.  Even when she took the fall for Nygma’s bank robbery in the Narrows a few weeks back, that was all she thought of.

            He supposed he loved her dearly for that.

            Lucius interrupted his thoughts.  “Ready to go?”

            Jim got back up and tucked the box under his coat, hefting it under his arm.  He let out a reluctant sigh and nodded.  “Yeah… I am…”


	21. Gepriesen sei die Stunde

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 of No Man's Land

           When the weather was bad, his mother would always turn on the Victorian style gramophone in the room to try to drown out the rain.  It always brought a smile to his face.  She always clasped his hands and attempted to dance with him to keep him amused. 

            Oh how he missed his mother’s simple ways…

            Now Oswald sat at his desk, waving his head to the opera music blaring from a speaker in the corner.  He gestured for the guard nearby to turn it down, smiling when the music softened.  He let his hand wave slowly in the air then let out a happy sigh.

            “Mr. Penn, today has been a good day.”  Oswald sat up in his seat and fixed his jacket collar proudly.  “I have all that I need so far and it’s only been a little over a week.”

            “You’ve worked at a stupendous rate, Mr. Cobblepot.”  Mr. Penn replied, standing nearby and clasping his hands tightly around his clipboard.  “Will you rest for the evening then?”

            “Mmm… no.  I have a few hours left.  Perhaps I should walk around, get used to my new kingdom.”

            The doors swung open and a man walked in, dressed in all black work clothes.  He took off his hat in respect and bowed his head for a moment before standing at attention.  “I’m sorry for coming in unannounced but we’ve encountered a… slight problem.”

            Oswald got up from his seat, knocking a pen off his desk.  “A problem as in…?”

            The man motioned towards the doors.  Another man walked in, holding a strange brown and white bundle in his arms.  Oswald gave it a strange look then let his jaw drop open when the bundle began to squirm.  It turned its wrinkly, squished face towards him and let out a bark.

            He let out a laugh.  “A _dog_?  You’ve brought to me… _a dog_?”

            The worker gulped.  “We didn’t want to kill it in the work room or just in general.  Plus, we wanted to let you know and let you do the decision making since-“

            “Since I’m the leader of this sector?  How _very_ observant of you.”

            The dog whimpered in the man’s arms then tried wriggling out of them.

            “At least put the dog down.  I’ve dealt with dogs before and that is about the worst thing you can do.”

            The worker put the dog down and carefully held it back by the scruff.  “He must have been a stray.  Wandered in and tried to jump into one of the factory chutes.”

            Oswald walked around to the front of the desk and leaned against it.  “I can smell it from here… is it clean?”

            “Ummm… I guess so.  No ticks on him.”

            “Mr. Cobblepot, it would be a charitable act to save it.  Your famed loyalty toward the people of Gotham would skyrocket.”  Mr. Penn whispered, holding up his clipboard to cover his mouth.

            Oswald raised a hand in the air to silence him then relaxed.  “Let it come to me.”

            The bulldog let out a happy laugh and charged towards Oswald, stopping right at its feet.  The other two men retreated into the workroom silently.

            Oswald looked down at the dog then at Mr. Penn.  “Perhaps you should check on whether or not they’ve done anything else besides coo over a dog.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            As soon as Mr. Penn, left the room, Oswald shuffled over to one of the pristine cushioned chairs in the middle of the room and sank down in it.  The bulldog toddled over to him and wagged its bottom excitedly.  He let out an amused hum and gently petted it.  The dog let out a few happy pants and sat down, trying to paw at his sleeve.

            He remembered his father’s dog, a giant Doberman named Nero.  It usually kept quiet and watched him as Grace van Dahl and his stepsiblings slaved him away in the kitchens.  He ended up poisoning the poor creature testing out Grace’s bottle of poisoned sherry.  Part of him regretting killing Nero but it was all for his father.

            Oswald paused then grabbed the dog’s paw as it tried to place it on his wrist.  He leaned forward to take a closer look at it.

            There was a green stain on its toe.  Presumably one of the workers tried picking it up with his or her grubby work gloves and failed- he could tell by the disgusting smell of wood finish.

            Green.  Green.

            He immediately thought of Ed.  Ed, who meant the world to him.  Ed and his stupid riddles.

            Ed, who lay dead on a table in Strange’s lab.

            The dog brought him out of his lapse and let out a whine, pawing at his brace and trying to lick his pant leg.

            Oswald made it stand up on its hind legs and checked the dog’s gender.  The dog tried to lean its head forward to lick his forehead but Oswald set its forepaws back down on the marble floor.

            He smiled, massaging its cheeks.  “Well boy… I think I’ll allow you to stay a little bit.  But only for a little bit.”

            The dog let out an affirmative bark, sending slobber on Oswald’s chin.  He carefully wiped it away with his finger then sat back.

            “We’re going to have to do something about that…”


	22. Pilgrimage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 of No Man's Land

           Everyone was huddled below in masses, slowly moving in several long lines.  At the head of the line was a long, long table full of food that the GCPD could scrounge up for them.  Many of the people wore old, wrinkled clothes and carried whatever they could on their backs.  Some of them were still covered in injuries from the bridges and wore old bandages that desperately needed bandaging.

            It also didn’t help that Gotham was going through one of the heaviest rain spells in the past eight years.  The overwhelming smells of body odor, mildew, and gunpowder filled the air.  Fresh water was starting to get hard to come by, as well as a bath.  Many of the officers barely managed to get by when it came to shaving.

            Harvey knew that he was no exception.  Honestly, he could have dunked his head in the river for all he cared.

            He made his way over to the top of the staircase down and sat down in the middle of the path.  He let out a sigh as he stretched his legs out then sat forward, leaning his elbows on his knees.  A small alcohol canteen dangled from his fingers and began dripping sweat onto the floor.  Jim had gone out on patrol for the day.  His partner gathered a bunch of the younger recruits and headed out to the southern border of their sector of Gotham.  The captain was gung ho on ensuring peace and tranquility, a certain determination that Harvey wished he had sometimes.

            Someone patted him on the shoulder.  “You doing OK?”

            Harvey sighed.  “Never better.”

            Lucius sat down next to him.  “I’m guessing that was sarcasm.  Not surprising.”

            “What’s surprising to me is that scruff you’re getting around your face.  You planning on keeping that?”

            “Oh no, no, no.  I haven’t had the time to clean up in a while.  In fact… I don’t I’ve actually slept these past few days.”

            Harvey looked out at the crowd below.  “You and me both… how’s everything going down there?”

            Lucius clucked his tongue.  “Well, do you want the good news or the bad news?”

            “Oh my God… why isn’t there like a happy medium when it comes to these things?  The universe hates us that much?”

            “Good news first then?”

            Harvey set the canteen down on the step under him.  “ _Sure_.  Why not?”

            “We have enough emergency beds to fill up about the equivalent of a hospital floor and we’re still gathering more.  We’ll have to be careful when it comes to disposing of any sewage because of water pressure-“

            “So we’re low on water then?  _And_ food?”

            Lucius paused then let out a weary huff.  “We have enough for another month or so but we have to cut down to half rations after today.”

            “Half?  Could we increase that somehow?”

            “I can do some calculations and maybe get it up to five-eighths.  That would help a little bit.”

            “Harvey!”

            Both men looked up at the call.  A man and woman stood at the bottom of the staircase, each holding a cheap plastic bag.  The man was tall with a balding head of blonde hair and wore thick horn-rimmed glasses and a baggy red-and-green plaid shirt.  The woman was small and had dark auburn hair that was tied up into a messy ponytail.  They looked toward Harvey in shock.

            “I’ll leave you to it then…”  Lucius chimed in awkwardly, rising from his spot to leave the detective alone.

            Harvey was speechless.  He stuffed his canteen into his jacket pocket and shuffled down the stairs.  Once he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he removed his hat and set it down on the bannister next to him.  The woman offered a knowing smile, starting to raise her hands toward him.

            Harvey let out a chuckle of relief and ecstatically shook the man’s hand before wrapping his arms around the woman, kissing the air behind her ear.  “Frieda?  Michael?  What the hell are you doing here?”  He let go of her then paused and looked around.  “Where’s Scottie?  Is she-”

            The woman- Frieda- shook her head.  “She was lucky and made it off the island before all hell broke loose.”

            Harvey brought his clenching hands toward his chest in relief.  “Oh thank God…”

            Frieda grasped him by his wrists and brought him forward into another hug, resting her chin on his shoulder.  Harvey sighed and closed his eyes for a moment before letting go.  “Holy crap, I haven’t seen you guys since-“

            “October.  Your sabbatical.”

            Michael yanked on his arm and enveloped him into a bear hug.  He tried to open his mouth but let out a small squeak of shock when his friend squeezed him tighter. 

            “You look… pretty much the same.”  Michael commented lightly.

            Harvey politely clapped him on the shoulder and took a deep breath when Michael let him go.  He combed his hair behind his ears and looked Frieda’s husband up and down with a teasing chuckle. “Nice _muffin top_ you’re sporting there, Mike.  And I thought I was a donut fan.”

            “Well when you had a job as a bus driver, you do nothing but sitting and stretching your legs every once in a while.”

            Harvey took a step back with a sigh.  “How are you guys?  How’s Scottie?”

            “We’re both… doing good.”  Frieda replied, adjusting the burgundy knit scarf around her neck.  “She got a job as a hospital secretary I think.  I was actually trying to call her when the bridges went down.”

            Harvey offered her a smile.  He always like Frieda; she always had a sensible head on her shoulders.  When they were engaged, Scottie had frequently insisted that her sister accompany them when they went to family outings.  Frieda often stood up for him when his sarcasm became too much for the now ex-future in-laws to handle.  He was glad that he was still in touch with some of the Mullens, especially her.

            Michael, however, was a different story.  “What do you think of this whole thing?”

            He sighed, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets.  “…I’m getting by.  And you?  What’s the craic?”

            Michael turned away from him, letting his gaze wander toward the lines of people around them.  “It’s a hellhole.  We’re stuck here helpless while no one else tries to do anything.”

            Harvey immediately felt his hands clench.  “Hey… the GCPD is doing a lot more than you think.”

            “You mean ‘struggling to do anything’?”

            “Mikey…”  Frieda warned, tugging on her husband’s sleeve.

            “I have faith in my partner, who just so happens to be acting leader of the whole GCPD at the moment.”

            Michael looked at him incredulously then let out a soft shocked huff.  “… _You don’t_.”

            “ _Mikey_!”  Frieda snapped.

            Harvey held a calming hand toward her.  “Frieda, it’s OK.  I wanna hear _Mikey_ ’s reasoning.”

            Michael took a step toward him, his chest heaving up and down in anger.  Harvey stood his ground and watched the man relax for a moment.  Michael stood a good three inches above him but he was never intimidating- just annoying.  “There’s criminals still on the loose that can kill us at any second.  Most of the city is gone and we have no contact from the outside.  No power, nothing.  Pretty soon, we’re gonna have the Donner Party all over again.”

            “ _Hey_ …”

            “It’s over.  Gotham has to start over.  Year zero-“

            “ ** _Hey_**!”  Harvey barked, jabbing his finger in the man’s chest.  He looked around the room and paused.  Some of the refugees had frozen in place at his sudden yell.  He immediately swiped his hand in the air, making them move on.  He turned back toward Michael and let out a frustrated huff.  “This is _not_ the end of the world!  The last thing we need now is someone screaming like a banshee for the apocalypse.”

            “Then why do I get the feeling that deep down you agree with me?”  Michael commented, tilting his head toward him.

            Harvey had the strong urge to break every rib in the man’s body.

            Frieda cleared her throat, running her hand down Michael’s arm soothingly.  She turned toward Harvey with an apologetic look.  “Do you know where we can get extra blankets?”

            He let out a deep sigh and cleared his throat, gesturing toward the corner of the room.  “They’re uh… over to the left where Harper is.”

            “Thank you, Harvey.  C’mon, Mikey…”  Frieda gently tugged her husband away from him.  As soon as Michael reluctantly turned away, she looked over her shoulder and mouthed a silent farewell.  Harvey raised his hand in acknowledgement and watched the couple disappear into the crowd.

            He drifted backwards toward the staircase.  He began to pick his hat back up but then slapped it down on the bannister next to him and ran his hands through his hair with an angry huff.  Stepping up onto the bottom step, he leaned over the rail and watched the Frieda and her prick of a husband shuffle over to Harper’s station.  Uncapping his canteen with a resigned sigh, he took a swig and looked back up toward the balcony.

            Jim usually leaned over to watch the crowds below as they received supplies.  Now as Harvey looked up, his partner wasn’t there.  Suddenly Michael’s rant flooded back into his brain.

            Harvey let out a groan and sat down on the stairs once more, taking another swig.


	23. Pretty Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 of No Man's Land

           “Oi, love!  Get off the street!  There’s a curfew in effect here!”

            Ecco turned towards the source of the voice:  an older man peeking out his window, a bat in one of his hands.  He locked eyes with her then slowly closed his window.

            She let out a huff then adjusted the mask on her face.  She propped her coat collar up to keep out the cold then trudged down the sidewalk.  Newspapers scattered the abandoned street and animal droppings stunk up the air.  A few trashcans down the street were set on fire, sending occasional gusts of warmth her way.  Water- or whatever it was, from a distance- ran loudly down into the sewage drains on the other side of the street. 

            Jeremiah had sent her out to search for more supplies after a few incompetent workers failed him the previous day.  She noticed how careful he had become over the past few days concerning his punishments.  He kept his plans to himself, something she had gotten used to.  Even the plan to reveal his true self to Bruce Wayne was kept from her until a week after she found him; after Jerome left his parting gift of laughing gas.  Paranoia was something that came very easy to her employer; he would let out small twitches in his shoulders and hands and his tone would speed up and grow higher in pitch.  Not even the laughing gas did anything to stop it.  The cultists that managed to survive and serve him would complain and moan, something both she and Jeremiah despised.  They froze constantly when he drew near and had no knowledge of the terrain they had moved into.  Ecco had offered to learn their names in order to punish them properly but Jeremiah refused.

            “There’s no need to worry about the inconsequential.”  He had purred then looked up from scribbling on a blueprint and nodded toward her.  “They’re not as… _high caliber_ as you.”

            That meant the world to her.

            Ecco paused and took a deep breath, shaking out her hands.  She raised her arms and did a front flip, letting out a small cackle of glee.  Once she landed, she checked her gloves then walked on her hands.  She looked over at one of the glass shop windows beside and grinned ecstatically before hopping back onto her feet.  It was a good thing she was still fit to do that.  She missed having the opportunity to stretch her legs when she did not have to go to work, which was rare.  With a happy sigh, she stuck her hand out and did a slow one-handed handstand, keeping her feet pointed in the air.

            Glass shattered nearby.  Ecco paused, holding a finger in the air.  She then landed back onto her feet and listened, tilting her head.

            Someone was singing.  A little too much.  And it was getting annoying.

            She carefully pulled out her gun and readied it, cushioning the bottom of it in her other hand.  She quickly adjusted her mask as she looked around.  Wind chimes jangled in the abandoned drug store next to her.  A frail old black cat blinked at her from its spot on top of a trash bin.

            The singing grew louder.  “Time to go bye bye…”

            Ecco watched a young woman with white and black hair dance out of an abandoned jewelry store, her clawed gloves carefully tucking precious stones in her picket.  The woman wore a black feathered sweater over a plain black skirt, black leather pants, and high-heeled riding boots.  A large handbag hung over one shoulder, the strap covered in duct tape.  A heavy black necklace decorated her neck and feathers decorated her sweater cuffs.  The woman was a like a living, breathing tarred and feathered chandelier.

            The woman did a double take towards her and smiled, politely slamming the door behind her.  “Ohhhhhhh!  I hear about you.  I hear about lots of people all the time!”

            Ecco sneered, putting away her gun and tilting her mask up slightly off her mouth.  “You’re a little late out past the curfew for this area.”

            “Ooohhh…”  The woman snickered.  “I like your sweet Tweety voice.  Never knew I had a twi-nnnn…”

            “Over my dead body.”

            “You’re that Mummer I’ve heard rumors about.”  The woman continued, pointing and curling a clawed finger at her like a witch.  Her gestures were large and dramatic.  “Didn’t think that pretty sparkly coat of yours was part of the ensemble.  I would have called it… _Perdita_ …”

            “What you see is what you’ll never get.”

            “People call me Magpie.”  The woman crooned, sidling towards her.  “I get only the prettiest, most sparkly things.  You work for Jeremiah, don’t you?”

            Ecco smirked at her under her mask then stepped towards the thief with a slink.  “Why ask?  Are you interested in joining?”

            Magpie gave her a strange look, using her entire body to lean back.  “ _Riiiiiiigghtt_ … not today, pretty bird.  Not today.  Say, you don’t have anything else shiny on you, hmm?  Eyes are pretty but not my style.”

            Magpie had to bet at least a year or so older than Selina Kyle.  She also carried herself like a wicked old crone in contrast.  However, unlike like the curly-haired street thief, this one could walk.

            “You know what else is not in style?”  Ecco took another step forward.  “ _Getting in his way_.”

            Magpie came up and stopped beside her, sizing her up.  “Hmmmm… nope.  I have better people- and places- to rob.  Besides…”

            She snickered then ran her fingers up Ecco’s shoulder and stroked the side of her neck.  “A pretty thing like _you_ has already been spoken for.  _Wink wink_.”

            Ecco tried yanking Magpie’s hand off but the thief ran off, tossing her a necklace.  She hissed as it began to burn through her gloves then chucked it into the street in front of her.  The necklace exploded, sending pieces across the road.

            Magpie’s laugh echoed in the distance.  “Boom boom!”

            Ecco let out a snort of contempt.  She quickly checked her pockets and almost collapsed in relief, spinning slightly toward the road in front of her.  She let out a sigh then looked up at the flickering street light.  The black cat beside let out a yowl and stretched, sticking its bottom up in the air in a downward pose.  It locked eyes with her with another yowl then hopped down out of sight.

            Ecco kicked away a piece of newspaper that drifted onto her foot and popped her neck.  Sliding her mask back down over her mouth, she let out a shiver then looked around as she walked up to the old store Magpie had robbed.  The windows were broken and the door had been tagged with bright glow-in-the-dark graffiti. 

            She carefully brushed away the broken glass form the window frame and climbed through.  Brushing off her hands, she tiptoed over to the display cases.  Magpie had done her work in pilfering most of the jewelry; the hanging lights were skewed toward the floor and many of the glass cases were either shattered into fine dust or politely resting on the velvet counters.  Anything remotely shiny was gone.  She looked around the cashier counter then looked through the drawers.  Old pictures were stashed away, gathering a fine layer of dust.  The cash drawer was empty except for a few pennies and dimes, which she pocketed anyway.  The bottom drawer was marked with a piece of tape that said, “RESERVED” in bright blue letters.  Ecco removed a pair of bobby pins from her hair and quickly worked on unlocking it.  Jeremiah had ordered that almost everything metal was to be melted down for bullets.  She was grateful though for him letting her keep her pins.  Precaution ruled supreme.

            She slid the pins back into her hair and opened the drawer.  There was only one black velvet case in there.  Removing her gloves, she set them down on her knee and opened the case.

            Her heart fluttered in excitement.  “Hel _lo_ …”

            She closed the case and peeked back up at the counter.  Snatching the latest copy of the newspaper that sat nearby, she carefully wrapped the case as if it were a present and tucked it into her jacket.  Looking around, she slowly got back onto her feet.  She placed her gloves on the counter top then put them back on.  Backing up, she began to look around once more when she heard her hip push something.  Static rang out.  Ecco vaulted back over the countertop and placed her hand over her gun holster.  The overhead speaker began to play softly, making her stop and listen.

            She knew this song.  It was an old blues song- some slow, passionate lament.  Someone she knew- her dad perhaps, she did not exactly know- told her about it.  It was so long ago when she heard the song the last time and it made her shiver where she stood, letting the wind hit her face and make the old cuts on her lips sting.

            _Oh, can’t you hear that wind howl… you better come on in my kitchen… hey, it’s gon-na be raining outdoors…_

            For some reason, she imagined Jeremiah dropping a heavy case as if he returned home from war and spreading his arms out triumphantly at her.  She also imagined leaping into his arms and caressing his lovely face while he talked about a grand adventure and swung her around.

            But she knew that would never happen.  No one had a blissful life like that- not anymore.  No one had the opportunity to walk arm and arm with someone they cared for, to enjoy the wonders of life.  The lucky few had fled Gotham when the bridges went down.

            She cleared her throat then hopped out the open window.  Jeremiah was waiting for her.


	24. Whiplash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 of No Man's Land

           Ed woke up with rainwater pouring on top of him.  He sputtered and spat out water as he stumbled onto his feet and skipped backwards in shock.  A harsh alley light shined above him, making him wince and look around.  Trash was littered on the ground below him and a ruptured water pipe sat above where he once sat.

            “Ohhhh!  _Cold cold cold_!”  He yelled, shaking himself dry.  He backed up against a brick wall and rung out his shirt and suit jacket.  His green jacket was ruined and stunk of body odor.

            He paused when the water he rung out splashed onto the ground in a dark color.  He looked down at himself and gasped in horror, sinking down to the ground.  Unbuttoning part of his shirt, Ed lifted it up and shifted to see his shirt properly in the light.  A healing stab wound decorated most of his pale abdomen, the edges purple and black from bruising.  Remnants of dissolving stitches lingered at the top of it.

            “ _What the_ …” he gasped then shut his eyes for a moment, pretending to stab himself with an invisible knife.  “Ok… ok… stab at close encounter… someone close… to me, I…”

            Ed then looked around, slamming his hand against the brick behind him.  “What the-“

            He shot back onto his feet and looked around.  “ _Where the h_ -“

            “Oi, mate!  Pipe it down, you looney!  You wanna get killed screaming your head off like that?”

            Ed looked up to see an elderly man glare down at him from an open window.  “Excuse me! Where am I?”

            “Near Harlow Park!  Now shuddup already!  It’s after midnight!”

            The window slammed shut.

            “Harlow… Harlow Harlow _Harlow_ …”  Ed looked down at the ground with a sigh.  He then picked up a newspaper from near his feet and unwrapped it from the plastic.  He wiped water away from the date and read the glaring headline.

 

**CATASTROPHE:  GOTHAM SEPERATED FROM COUNTRY**

            He didn’t remember anything like that at all.

            “No… no no no…”  Ed shook the newspaper in frustration.  “ ** _NO_**!  GOD-“

            He hurled the newspaper over the whitewashed wooden fence beside him then let out an angry huff.  “I was gonna… what was I gonna do, I was gonna…”

            He jumped in alarm when a car drove by on the road.  He let out a sigh of relief then placed his hands on his temples.  “It’s just amnesia.  Just amnesia, that’s all.  I’m the Riddler.  I can get back.”

            He began to pace nervously.  “The bridges… something about some maniac blowing them up… and I was stabbed.  **_Great_**.  And then-“

            Ed paused in horror.  “How can I _not remember_?!?”

            He looked down at a puddle and shook his hands at it.  “ _How can you not talk to me_?!?”

            He grabbed another wound up newspaper from nearby and tore the plastic of in a frenzy, chucking the rubber band behind him.  He growled as half of the paper fell into the puddles below and shook the obituary column at it before opening it.

            “Date, date, give me a date-“

            Ed searched the page desperately then froze at one of the names on it.

 

**REST IN PEACE:  BLAISE NATHANIEL NYGMA**

 

            Ed frowned at it for a long while, leaning back against the brick wall, and then folded the section over to find the date.  “OK… OK… it’s been… it’s been… _13 days_?!?”

            He glared down at the puddle.  “Ed… what have you been doing?!?”

            The puddle didn’t respond.

            Ed tucked the obituary into his ruined suit jacket and trudged out into the street, ripping off the trash that stuck to the bottom of his muddy shoe.  He looked both ways in confusion then kept walking down the sidewalk.


	25. The Cabinet of Jeremiah Valeska

            “ ** _Help!_** ”

            Some of the workers stopped what they were doing and looked up.  The supervisor of the room clanged his pistol against the exposed pipes nearest him and they quickly went back to work.  “There will be no stopping for minor inconveniences!”

            He nodded toward a much larger man in the corner, who nodded back.  He then went to regard the call, shoving his pistol back into his holster.  Lazily taking off his hard hat, he tossed it onto one of the crates nearby and adjusted his long black work coat.

            A man stumbled in carrying something bundled against his chest.  Blood ruined the front of his pale grey uniform and his skin was unearthly pale.  His black suspender straps were fraying at his shoulders and his forehead was drenched in sweat.  His eyes were sunken and wide with terror.  The seemingly heavy bundle lung limply from his long arms.

            The supervisor paused.  “ _Darrin_?!?  What the _hell_ are you doing here?!?  All the deserters were-“

            “Robert, I need help!”

            “What are you carrying?  Jesus, is that _blood_?!?”

            “ _That’s why I need help_!”

            Robert motioned for a few workers nearest him to come forward.  “I need the first aid kit and bandages.  _Now_!”

            Darrin struggled to keep his arm tightly wrapped around the bundle and whimpered when he about dropped it.  Blood began to soak through the bundle and drip onto the floor.

            “Darrin…”  Robert carefully tore off some of the fabric surrounding the bundle, ignoring the blood that soaked his glove.

            He then froze in horror.

\---

            Jeremiah laughed.  “Please tell me this isn’t your real name…”

            The doctor across from him sat back in confusion.  “I beg your pardon?”

            “ _Caligari_?  Is your specialty in sleepwalking?”  Jeremiah asked mockingly.

            “No, it’s not.  Trauma mainly.”

            Jeremiah nodded then sat forward.  He immediately that there was no way he could say the doctor’s name again without giggling.  “I understand that you have a background in plastic surgery as well.  Gotham General, I presume?”

            “Bludhaven… as well as Cushman Cosmetics over on Grant and 80th.  I came to work there at the latter right before the bridges went down.”

            “Why?”

            “More opportunity.”

            Jeremiah chuckled at his response.  “So say if I brought a few people, _bodies_ of a sort, to you and asked you to make them a certain way… will you?”

            “Get me the preferred height and build first.”

            The doctor sat back in his chair uneasily as Jeremiah rose from his seat.  “I’m assuming… price also comes into play?  If… I may be so bold, I don’t think money matters anymore in Gotham.”

            Jeremiah’s tone became insistent.  “Payment then?  Of some kind or another?”

            The doctor thought for a second.  “A handgun will do.  With enough rounds to last me a month.”

            Jeremiah let out a slight groan, rolling his eyes.  “You see, Doctor, you may think that since I blew up all the bridges, then I must be the king of everything.  I’ve been begrudgingly forced, _exiled_ really, to the so called ‘Dark Zone’.  Can’t be too careful with… _criminals_ afoot…”

            The doctor fidgeted in his chair in unease.  “If you give me enough time for this project, I can wait for payment.  For as long as you need.”

            Jeremiah grabbed a mug from the table next to him and began pacing.  “Then we’re in agreement.”  He regarded the doctor once more, straightening his posture, and then extended his hand.  “Welcome aboard, Doctor.”

            The doctor slowly shook his hand.  “You have a strong grip there, Mr. Valeska.”

            He smirked, letting out an amused hum.  “So I’ve been told.”  He removed his hand as if the other man had sneezed on it then started pacing again.  “And now… the ground rules.”

            “Continue.”

            “I have many workers that need to stay around in order to get my work done.  Su- _per-vise_ … but if they die, they die.  I need all the stable hands I can get, Doctor.”

            “Of course, Mr. Valeska.”

            Jeremiah continued, his tone dark.  “Good man.  You will also not be reporting to me half of the time.  Once the project gets started, you will be at a different outpost than I and I expect you to get your work done on time; my assistant will make sure of that.  And I’m sure you know what will happen if you…”  He took out his straight razor and fiddled with the tang before setting it down on his desk in front of the doctor.  “… _fail_.”

            The doctor paused before nodding slowly.  “Of course.  Might I ask who this assistant of yours is?”

            The office door swung open loudly before he could respond.  “ _Jeremiah_!”

            He looked away from the doctor to face a measly follower, who had the courtesy to stand at attention.  The nauseous smell of hydrogen peroxide filled the room.  This made the interruption even stranger.  “ _What_.”

            The worker twitched nervously.  “It’s the Mummer.  She’s… she’s been shot.  _Badly_.  O-one of the others brought her into one of the storage rooms so that there wouldn’t be a scene-“

            Jeremiah snarled and gestured for the worker to lead the way, picking his blade back up and storming out the door.  He looked back at the doctor, who followed close behind.  “Well, Doctor, your first round starts now, it seems.”

            “Where is the wound?”  The doctor asked urgently.

            The follower abruptly stopped in front of a door and turned towards him with a nervous gulp.  “In- _in the_ _head_.”

            Jeremiah felt as if his skin was crawling.  His eyebrows rose in surprise.  “ _Oh_?”

            “We cleaned up the mess left behind but we didn’t know what else to do.”

            Without a word, Jeremiah unfolded his razor and slit the man’s throat.  The doctor quickly slipped past him and went into the room.  Jeremiah cleaned the blood off his blade before putting it away then barged through, slamming the door behind him.

            The doctor stood beside a prone figure on a long, white, fold out table, focusing a lamp light directly over it.  He pulled up a chair and began investigating.  “Your workers acted fast.  She’s still in shock and lost a lot of blood- but I think she’ll live.”

            Jeremiah grew cold as he absorbed the surprising news.  “You… _think_?”

            The doctor kept going, brushing sticky strands of blonde hair away.  “Point blank GSW to the lower cerebellum.  But there’s not much more I can do.  I can’t take out the bullet or she’ll bleed to death-“

            “Just- _shut up and work_!”

            Jeremiah unconsciously let out a shaky breath and sat down next to the table on the other side.  His hands grew clammy inside his leather gloves as he watched the doctor work.

            Ecco lay in front of him, comatose, wrapped in a bloody sheet.  Bloody handprints were abundant near her shoulders, smearing onto her collarbone.  Her fingers were swollen, bloody and bruised.  He carefully lifted one of her hands up and inspected it with a growl.  Putting it back down, he then took a breath and removed her porcelain mask.  The doctor made a small noise in disagreement at Jeremiah’s action but quickly went back to work.  Her face was unearthly pale- but not as pale as him.  Her closed eyes were dark and sunken.  Scratches covered her mouth and cheeks and several small bruises began to decorate her jawline.  Her mask was half covered in what looked like ash and a large crack decorated the top of it.

            The doctor crumpled up a bloody napkin and set down a bloody set of tweezers on the table, which made Jeremiah recoil.  “Unfortunately, the bullet has done its damage.  She might take a while to fully recover.  I would expect some… drastic changes.”

            “Like _how_?”

            “It all depends on the person.  I’m gonna go get some fluids and antibiotics for her to speed up the recovery.”

            Jeremiah looked at her then back at the doctor.  “That would be all.  Have one of the workers clean up the trash outside.  I’ll go out in a bit to pick up some paperwork.”  He responded grimly.

            “Right away, sir.”

            The doctor left quietly.

            He leaned toward Ecco and studied her; his most faithful, his most loyal servant.  She had helped him with so many things:  Jerome, the cult followers, the bombs.  To see her unconscious and recovering on a makeshift surgery table was slightly disturbing.

            And it made him very angry.

            He was very glad he killed that quivering mess of a follower.  He could start with a clean slate with Ecco and formulate a more cohesive plan.  She was the only one, the only one who completely understood his methods, his brain.  Besides Bruce of course.

            As he sat there, he realized that he had grown abnormally warm and his chest was heaving as if he was dying.  His body trembled all over in alarm.  He looked around the room slowly then stood up and picked up Ecco in his arms, letting the white sheet drop to the floor.  She was so cold and small cradled against him.  It was like carrying a cadaver, already sewn up and touched up enough to be presented at a funeral viewing.

            He carefully laid her down on a mattress in the corner then propped her hands up across her abdomen like a corpse.  He then picked the sticky strands of hair off her face and placed the blankets around her.

            She needed to be awake.  And not with a hole in her sweet head.

            His mouth felt dry and all he wanted to do was leave, banish the image of a comatose Ecco from his head.  He found himself walking over to the other side of the room and relaxing back into a creaky office chair.

            For what seemed like the millionth time in his life, he did not sleep.


	26. Contractually Tied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 of No Man's Land

            Bruce gathered whatever clothes he had stashed away, whatever trinkets that reminded him of those close, and stuffed them in a suitable suitcase.  He checked his wallet and took out whatever money he had left, stuffing the amount in the suitcase pocket.  Adjusting the picture of his parents in the sleeve, Bruce then snapped his wallet closed and had tossed it in with the rest of his items.

            They left for their new lodging that morning.  His car had been left behind; he imagined it stolen and stripped for parts already by other criminals vying to secure their safety in the chaos.  Taking that into consideration, Alfred led the way, using abandoned alleys as a safer route.

            “I don’t trust an empty daytime street as I do if it was at night, that’s for sure.”  His butler asserted.

            Bruce cautiously looked around each time they went down a different alley.  Whatever training he could still summon from his memory told him to watch out for everything.  He imagined other ordinary citizens peering out from their bolted windows as they climbed over a chain-link fence.  It was either that or the worst people he could think of spying on them.  He let out an unconscious shiver at that aspect. 

            Alfred made sure he got off the fence safely then directed him toward an empty open street.  “It’s safe, mate.  Part of the new Green Zone that Gordon established.”

            The street was full of abandoned fancy co-op apartments.  A few older cars lined the street here and there and some of the trees were even fenced in.  It reminded him of the pictures of New York that he saw sometimes in magazines.  Leaves were gently scattered across the road and small puddles of water lined the curb.

            A cold breeze blew through, making the hair on the back of his neck rise.  He looked up at the sky and watched the clouds slowly block the sun, contorting into a giant grey storm cloud. 

            Alfred followed his gaze.  “Ah.  That’s our cue then.”

            They both ran to one of the apartments.  Once they climbed up the stairs, Alfred quickly knelt down and worked on the lock.  Bruce looked around again, adjusting his grip on his suitcase.  It felt much lighter than he thought it would.  Then again, most of his usual on-the-run clothes were back at the Manor.

            He couldn’t even get back to his own house.  At this point, he could not think of a reason why he wanted to get back there.  Everyone he knew was on the island still.  They were more important.  He knew Alfred thought the same.

            The lock let out a loud click.  Alfred rose to his feet and used his shoulder to ram the door open.  Bruce took a step back then hurried inside, taking another quick glance behind them just in case.

            Alfred let out a sigh as he closed the door behind them.  He then stepped in front of Bruce and accepted his suitcase and coat.  “After I unpack my things, I’ll start us a decent fire, yeah?”

            Bruce nodded with a shiver, rubbing his arms.

            Alfred proceeded upstairs.  Bruce hesitated near the coat rack, toeing the back of his shoes, and then walked into the sitting room.  He picked up a purple-and-green blanket resting on a chair beside him and sniffed it carefully before draping it over his shoulders.  The whole room smelled of dust.  All the windows were bolted shut, gathering spider webs in the corners.  The fireplace was closed off.  The whole room looked dark and dreary, like a rejected funeral home.

            Lord knows he had been to too many for his liking.

            He knelt down and followed the various plugs on the floor, making sure the previous owners left everything still plugged in.  Bruce plugged one outlier in and sighed in relief when a large lamp turned on, sending warm yellow light into the room.  It was a good start. 

            The stairs creaked nearby.  Bruce rose to his feet as Alfred walked in, wiping his hands off.  The older man smiled and looked around.  “Well doesn’t this look… charming...”

            “I can work on seeing if some of the other lights work.”

            “That sounds like a plan.  Right now… a fire.”

            Bruce watched as his butler opened the fireplace and began to get to work.  He sank down into one of the cushioned seats next to the large lamp and adjusted the blanket around him.  His toes curled in his shoes from the cold and his shoulders quivered.  He looked around the room once more then froze, looking down.  Under the large lamp, under the inn table, lay a folded up newspaper in a wicker basket.

            Bruce picked up the newspaper then froze.  His hand grew clammy and he dropped it in shock.  “Alfred…”

            “Yes, Master Bruce?”

            Bruce slowly held the newspaper back up, his blanket falling off his shoulders.

            Alfred hesitated, resting his hands on his knees.  “That must have been left behind by the previous owner.  I don’t think they’ll be missing it any time soon.”

            Bruce stood up, unfolded the newspaper, and held it up to the lamp light for the older man to see.  The newspaper displayed a large bold title:

 

**5 YEARS LATER:  THOMAS AND MARTHA WAYNE, CELEBRATING THE LIVES OF GOTHAM’S FINANCIAL AND PHILANTROPHICAL ICONS**

 

            Beneath the title was a picture of his parents, smiling while holding a much younger Bruce.  They looked happy.  Still alive.

            Alfred froze.  “Oh my.”

            Bruce fought back the urge to crush the newspaper in his fist.  “Important people die every day but not all of them have to get these _stupid_ anniversary articles.”

            “I thought we sent in a request to ban any more stories concerning-.”

            “Well _clearly_ it didn’t work.  Because _no one_ likes to let go of things-“

            Bruce realized he ranted himself into a corner and sat back down in the chair, pushing away the newspaper forcefully.  He sat forward and propped his elbows on his knees, rubbing his temples with his hands.  Letting out a sigh, he looked back over at the newspaper.  A hint of Thomas’s smiling face peeked out at him from under the light.

            He knew for sure there had to be an entire section dedicated to their deaths.  Along with that, a picture of his twelve year old self mourning them from the steps of a fire escape.  The captions would label him as having a thousand-yard stare while tears streamed down his cheeks.  They of course would be true but to have that day, the thought of _someone_ gunning down his parents _constantly_ thrown in his face-

            He shut his eyes, letting out a slow breath.  “I think of him.  Sometimes.”

            Alfred was still watching him.  “Who?”

            “Malone- the man who killed my parents.”

            There was a small shuffle of feet on the carpet.  He opened his eyes and looked up at Alfred, who now knelt in front of him.  The older man sighed, glancing down at the ground for a moment, before looking at him again.  “Bruce, he died three years ago.  Weren’t you and Gordon there when it happened?”

            “…in a manner of speaking.”

            Alfred sat up a little bit and placed a comforting hand on his arm.  “He can’t hurt you now.  You have friends around you that have loved and supported you all this way.  Plus your cantankerous army dog of a butler.”

            Bruce sighed, relaxing against the man’s touch.  “It’s gonna be less than three months to the day when it happened.  I can’t help but think about him and I don’t _want to_ anymore.”

            Alfred wiped his hands on his pant leg and gently cradled Bruce’s face in them.  His gaze was calming, sincere.  “He has and never will be part of your life anymore.”

            Bruce sighed, bowing his head slightly.  He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling Alfred’s hand slowly pull away.  After another brief moment of silence, he heard the fireplace roar to life.  A powerful gust of heat filled the room, warming him to the core.

            He opened his eyes.  Alfred was once again crouched in front of the fire, blowing on the flames carefully.  Warm embers dared to leap out of the fireplace but the older man used the doors to deflect them back in. 

            Bruce then looked back over at the newspaper on the inn table.  It was almost as if it was taunting him, teasing him with the faces of his parents.  He told himself before that it was over but every time he did, someone mentioned them again. 

            And again.  And again.

            He slowly rose to his feet.  It had to stop.

            Bruce crumbled up the newspaper in his hands and tossed it into the fireplace over Alfred’s shoulder.  Sparks flew everywhere in response.  He stared at it as the paper burned and collapsed in on itself before he picked the blanket up again and trudged upstairs to his new room.


	27. Sweet Nothings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 of No Man's Land

            The teenage boy sniffled and blew his nose into a tissue.  He sighed then bowed his head, stuffing his hands between his legs.  His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.  “I’m sorry.  It’s… it’s just a lot to take in…”

            “Take your time, honey.”  Barbara relaxed her posture as she leaned back against the front of her desk.

            The boy sniffed again then wiped at his eyes with the back of his finger.  “I didn’t mean to trespass on your property… I just… it’s the closest place for shelter.”

            Tabitha stood beside Barbara.  She gave the teenager a concerned look and crossed her arms.  “Your parents left Gotham?  Without you?”

            “They were threatening to kick me out anyway.”  The teenager then sighed.  “Guess not appealing to their uppity standards throws a wrench in things, huh?  Plus Kaleb already got to the mainland so…”

            Barbara tapped the bottom ledge of her desk in thought.  Tabitha glanced over at her, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.  She sighed then looked over at her friend with a soft smile.  Turning back toward the teenager, Barbara stood up and knelt in front of him.  “What’s your name, kid?”

            “…Benny…”

            Barbara reached her hand out and gently took his.  “Hi, Benny.  I’m Barbara Kean.  You probably already know me.”

            Benny nodded.  “Yeah.”

            “I’m guessing Kaleb isn’t your brother either?”

            Benny shook his head, his lip trembling.

            Natasha, standing guard next to him, glanced over at Barbara, slightly dubious.

            Barbara nodded slowly and let the teenager blow his nose once more.  “Trust me, Benny, I have had my fair share of uppity parents and they don’t deserve kids like us.”

            She shifted over so that she knelt beside him then nodded toward Tabitha.  “See Miss Tabitha by my desk?  We’ve known each other for almost four years now and I love her.  She is my best friend and is _very_ special to me.  Like Kaleb was to you, right?  Yeah… there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

            Benny sighed in relief, wiping away the tears that streamed down his cheeks.

            “Now I know you know that we have a huge ‘No Men’ sign out front, right?”

            “I know…”

            Barbara nodded.  “You gotta give me a good reason for me to help you out.  I usually don’t do this willy nilly.”

            Benny sat up in his seat and turned toward her.  “I can be a waiter for you.  I’ve- I’ve worked in clubs before.  I got experience.”

            She raised an eyebrow at him incredulously then looked him up and down with a smile.  “How well do you think you can handle waiting in… certain dance outfits?”

            “… really well.  In my opinion.”

            Tabitha let out an audible huff near her.

            Barbara smirked.  “We can definitely work with that.”

            Something flickered in the tinted office doors and the lights buzzed on and off in the bar lounge.  Everyone looked up promptly, Barbara holding a hand out toward Benny to calm him.  The teenage boy shivered and tugged down his wrinkled shirtsleeves.

            Natasha peeked out of the office before walking back to the desk.  “The other Sisters have returned.”

            “Finally.  Can you help Benny here set up lodging?”

            The League member gawked at the teenage boy before glancing back at Barbara.  She let out a reluctant sigh and relaxed her stance.  “Where at?”

            “There should be separate empty rooms near the women’s shelter.  He can get a room there.  Take Jordan with you to help.”

            Natasha nodded then motioned for Benny to stand.  He slowly rose to his feet and looked back and forth between her and Barbara.  “…umm, thank you.  This means a lot.”

            “A hostess should always take care of her customers.”  Barbara smiled then gestured toward herself.  “Now… I got work to do, honey.”

            “Yeah.  ‘Course.”

            “Let him clean himself up a bit before you go.”  She added toward the Sister, who had begun to swing her body toward the door.  Natasha let out a huff then offered another tissue to Benny, who accepted it with a nod. 

            Barbara offered another smile toward the boy then walked around him towards the doors, Tabitha close behind her.  She brushed the hair off her jacket and removed her leather fingerless gloves.

            “I’m glad you left out the part where you mentioned that you killed your own ‘uppity’ parents.”  Tabitha muttered under her breath toward her as she swung open the doors with a dramatic flourish.

            “Honestly, I want to put that behind me.  There’s more important things to focus on.  Such as making sure we survive through this mess.”  She replied as they strode toward the main bar.  Promptly coming to a stop, she turned on her heel toward the newcomers with a smile.  “The Sisters of the League.  Welcome back to the Sirens.”

            The Sisters all bowed their heads in unison.  The leader Leila raised her head and took a step forward, the scabbard hanging from her hip softly hitting her thigh.

            Barbara nodded toward her.  “Any word from the Dark Zone?”

            Leila relaxed her stance, brushing her black ponytail off her shoulder.   “The usual.  No one up poses any significant danger to your establishment.”

            “How about that creep Jeremiah?”  Tabitha added, leaning against the bar.

            “Absolutely nothing.  There’s rumors but no confirmed sightings.”

            Tabitha scoffed, slapping the side of the bar with her hand.  “Jesus, the man can’t just up and disappear.  He literally has _ghost white skin_ ; it shouldn’t be that hard to spot.”

            “Remember that cult though?”  Barbara remarked as she turned back toward her, gesturing with her hand.

            “True… but I thought they’ve been wiped out.”

            “Should we send a party to investigate?”  Leila asked.

            “No.  We keep our girls here.  Away from the rest of the lunatics.”  Barbara reassured, standing back up straight.  “If anyone needs to head to the Dark Zone, they go through me first.”

            Tabitha bristled in her spot.  “ _The next time I see him_ -“

            “Honey, I don’t even wanna _think_ about the next time meeting him.  Or just meeting him in general again.”  She let out a shiver in response then walked around the bar to fix herself a drink.  Once she filled a flute glass with champagne, she reached over to the fruit bowl under the counter and dropped in a couple of raspberries.  Barbara stood back up to watch Natasha disappear behind the main doors, Benny close behind her.  The teenage boy stopped for a second and flashed a grateful smile at her before Natasha tugged him away.

            Leila followed Barbara’s gaze and froze, her nostrils flaring in alarm.  “I thought… men were _banned_ from the Sirens.”

            All the Sisters turned toward Barbara, a little too in sync for Barbara’s liking.

            She swished around the champagne in her flute glass, walking back around the bar.  “…That is something I want to discuss.  With all of you.”

            “But what is he _doing_ here?”  Leila insisted, taking a step forward and placing a hand on her sheath.

            Barbara took a sip of her drink.  “ _Benny_ sought shelter with us because his no-good parents left him behind while fleeing Gotham.  I obliged… if he also accepted a job as a waiter here.  Natasha and Jordan are helping him set a bunk up backstage.”

            “So he won’t interfere with anything?”  One of the Sisters asked.

            “Nope.”

            “What if more men come?”

            Barbara leaned her elbow against the bar loudly.  “At this point… let them come.  They’ll know whose place this is.  They know what we have:  food… _drinks_.  Men all love a good amount of hooch down their throats every now and then.  We have enough to supply Gotham at least five times over with that.  We can have good business if we pull the right moves.  Unfortunately… we’ll have to take down the banner outside.”

            “’Women drink free whilst men… _don’t_ ’?”  Tabitha suggested with a shrug.

            Barbara gasped, turning toward her, and then shook her head.  “I forgot all about that stupid commercial...”  She set her glass down then sat on one of the bar stool chairs.  “But… we can bring that back into effect.  If men have a legitimate purpose in coming here, they are allowed… hmm, let’s go with an hour.  And I will have everyone here keeping a timer.”

            “If they’re not out, then we kick them out.”  Tabitha added.

            “ _Without_ killing them.”  Barbara continued.  “And honestly, if Oswald’s _measly_ little secretary shows his face, because _I know he will_ , we make sure we leave a good impression for everyone outside.”

            She gazed pointedly at her friend. 

            Tabitha’s lip curled in disgust and the woman sat down on a stool next to her.  “ _Fine_.”

            Leila raised her chin at Barbara, nodding toward the office.  “Well what if there are more men like… _Benny_ … who want a job?”

            “We’re gonna put a limit on that, right?”  Tabitha chimed in.

            Barbara leaned against the ledge of the bar behind her.  “Of course.  I’ll make the call on whether or not they got the qualifications we’re looking for.  Waiters only.”

            She met Leila’s gaze confidently.  “We provide our own security _and_ information.”

            Leila smirked, nodding.  “Well said, Barbara.  We can start spreading the word when you are ready.”

            Barbara confirmed the woman’s declaration with a nod.  Leila turned back toward around and walked out of the lounge, the Sisters following close behind.

            Tabitha sighed and turned toward Barbara.  “Please tell me you’re sticking by the one hour rule for everyone.”

            “Including Jim Gordon.”  She turned toward her friend.  “And I _know_ how much you want Oswald and anyone affiliated with him dead and trust me, I am with you all the way, but we _have_ to uphold this place.  I have to comply… for a little bit.  Just… think of all the guys you kill in the future as a warm up for the man himself.”

            Tabitha snorted then walked back toward the office.  “Trust me, that’s going to be a lot.”

            Barbara watched her friend leave then turned back toward the empty lounge.  She began to raise her glass to her mouth then paused.  Glancing back at the dark city behind her in the window, she set her glass down and reached over the bar to turn on the music.


	28. A Town That's Right for Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 of No Man's Land

            Victor Zsasz liked the simpler things in life.

            Once he learned that the government abandoned Gotham, he quickly snatched up territory in the upper west end of the city.  He was surprised that he was able to get so much.  He liked that.  He also liked how many snacks he could keep for himself, like ice cream and potato chips.

            Simpler things.

            He also liked the sweet release of blood as he carved a new hatch mark onto his arm.  He had a lot more of those now; they stretched up from his arms to his collarbone and the tops of his shoulders.

            “Not sure if I should start doing it down more…” he pondered aloud one time as he had looked himself over in a mirror at the hideout.

            One of his henchwomen, Pollyanne, gave him a strange look.  “You wanna cover your entire body with tally marks?”

            Yeahhhh, that’s a good point.  Doesn’t really amplify my figure, does it?  I’d look like a di- _saster_ …”

            Some of his ladies decided to stay with him:  Pollyanne, Violet, Jamie, Amelia, Gwendoline, and Indi.  Gwendoline and Violet served as his pseudo lieutenants, always getting everyone the supplies they needed.  They had been with the longest and he trusted them well enough to get things done.

            However, Victor had the best person for information though:  himself.

            With most of the population out of the city, he had free range in whatever he wanted to do.  All the food he could ask for was readily available.  No more stalking people in jalopies and taking pictures with black-and-white cameras or waiting around to finish a job for anyone.  Borders also really trashed his style.  He was free to axe off whomever he wanted; now, no one of interest came to mind.  He didn’t work for anyone anymore, which was fabulous, and he felt as if he stripped off a hundred layers of clothing.

            Lightweight, easy to breathe.  Free.

            That morning, he packed up his gear and set out for the day.  Passing through the lounge area to check up on everyone there, he swung his leather jacket up and over his shoulder and whistled a tune.  He walked backwards for a moment to casually wave at Violet, who sat back in her cushioned seat, before turning back around to slip on his boots.  Victor swiped the dust off his pants then waltzed out the door.  Taking in a breath of fresh air, he hiked down the street toward one of the painted lampposts.  After a good ten minutes, enjoying the quiet afternoon, he took a sharp left turn down an alley.  He looked around for any intruders then jumped up to pull down a rusty fire escape ladder.  Once he hoisted himself up to the first level, he climbed to the next and tucked his body through the open window, making sure his duffle bag didn’t snag on the latch.

            The room he hopped into was in a state of disarray.  The large indoor plants that sat in the corner hung to the floor, brown and crumbling.  A fine spray of dust filled the air when he stepped down onto the sun bleached yellow carpet rug.  His boot heel scuffed the vinyl wooden floor beneath him as well.  Faded white-and-green wallpaper covered the walls and the room smelled of something old and awful.

            Victor sniffed the air then made a face.  “Hope nobody _died_ in here…”

            He ventured out into the hallway and went into another room, adjusting a crooked painting as he walked by.  Adjusting the duffle bag over his shoulder, he walked over to one of the windows and threw the curtains open.  A cool gust of air greeted him as he walked out onto the balcony.  Taking a quick look of the smaller buildings before him, he nodded with a small hum of agreement then went to work.  Kneeling to the floor, he took a small bag of chips and removed the clip before pushing it aside to take out something much larger:  a rifle.

            Victor polished off the muzzle then set up the stand in front of him.  He dropped the bullets into the vertical feed and carefully positioned the gun into place, making sure the barrel sat between the balcony bars.  Lowering the stand to eye level and straightening the custom scope on top, he laid down onto his stomach and steadied his breathing.  Without looking away from the scope, he pulled his bag of chips closer to him, sneaking a bite.

            He could feel his heart beat at a steady pace, like someone knocking on a door in slow motion.  His breathing became nonexistent as he tried to zero in on a target.

            After what seemed like hours of silence, he fired.

            Thirty meters away, a seagull fell backwards into a fire escape in a flurry of feathers and yellow paint.

            Victor looked up from the scope with a toothy grin.  He was getting a lot better with the paintball guns that had been stashed away.  Bullets were slowly growing hard to come by and he had made every effort to make sure the territory he owned had as much ammo as possible.  Sure he was technically without a job or a steady income but it was worth it.  The usual metal bullets were locked in cases in his stronghold and the plastic bullets were limited to the nearby patrol.

            Birds were usually the only good living things he could use as target practice.  He shot the occasional sparrows here and there as well as pigeons.  Gwendoline remarked once that she thought she saw a hawk fly over but she wasn’t able to make it out clearly.  The seagull he just shot wasn’t the first he had seen- one of many actually- but the first one he had shot.

            Victor pushed himself away from his gun and ate another handful of chips.  Wiping the crumbs off his cheek, he sat back on his knees and popped his neck.   He reached over into his duffel bag and pulled out a mini notebook, untangling the pen dangling from a string.  Licking his fingers, he flipped a page and made a tally mark.

            Something popped loudly in the distance, making him look up and close the notebook.  A plume of purple smoke curled up into the air, followed by another.  And another.

            That was obviously Violet; all the women had color coordinated smoke grenades to tip him off when something was off.  Violet’s meant that they had a guest.

            Victor sat up then looked over the balcony, taking apart his rifle.  He smirked to himself as he packed all his things and rose to his feet, hefting his duffle bag straps over his shoulders like a backpack.  Adjusting the straps once more, he left to head back.

\---

            One of the ladies met him at the front door of the hideout, which made him pause.  She was darker skinned with thick deep blue hair delicately braided and wrapped up into a ponytail.  Two handguns rested in the pockets of her black cargo pants and the handles of small shivs stuck out of her combat boots.  The sleeves of her leather peplum coat was adorned in blue studs that ran up from her hands to across her shoulders.

            Victor’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Youu… are not Violet.”

            “She went out with Jamie to stock up on more food so she had me send up the smoke grenade instead.”  The woman replied, stepping aside to let him in.  “How was paintballing?”

            “Got a seagull today.  Oh, and a few pigeons on the way back.”  He wiped his feet on the rug then turned around, taking a step back. 

            There was another set of muddy track marks on the rug.  A pair of shiny magazines, each one tied into separate loops hung on the coat rack.  Even a pair of large black combat boots sat underneath them as if they had always been there.

            Victor smirked.  “Ohhhh… oh I know exactly who’s here.”  He spun back toward the woman and playfully patted her on the shoulder.  “Thank you for letting me know, Indi.”

            “He’s in the garage.”  Indi stated as she accepted his duffle bag.  “At least he wiped his feet in when he came.  He wanted me to tell you that.”

            Victor snickered from the back of his throat.  “Of course he would.”

            “He also brought food.”

            “Even better.  I like your hair by the way.  How long did that take you?”

            Indi paused, thrown off by his question.  “Probably… longer than it takes to shoot a seagull?”  she replied slowly.

            He clicked his tongue in acknowledgement then offered another smile before brushing off his jacket.  “Could never really get the hype behind hair.   So… he’s in the lounge?”

            “He’s in the lounge.”

            “Cool.”  Victor shrugged off his jacket and hung it up on the coat rack.  He rubbed his hands together in preparation and waltzed past Indi, who went into the adjacent room.  “ _Cooolll_ ….”

            He walked back inside the sprawling hallway for the day and pried off his leather boots.  He slipped his feet into a pair of slippers then walked into the lounge to find a man dressed in a black and white leather outfit lounging on the futon.

            “Victor, you son of a gun!”  The man proclaimed as jumped onto his feet, holding up two large Styrofoam drinks.

            “Wendell, nice to see ya.”

            “How’s the bubbe?”

            “The usual.  She’s old.”

            “Yet she can probably still kick my ass any day.”  Wendell laughed then handed Victor a cup.  “Got your usual- Neapolitan with strawberry pickin’s.”

            They both sat down on the futon, Victor allowing Wendell to prop his feet up on his knees.  He took a loud sip from his cup and sat back with a satisfied sigh.

            “I should’ve called earlier.  One of your lady friends let me in, the one with the blue ponytail.”  Wendell explained.  “She tell you I wiped my feet off on the rug?”

            “She did.  Yeah, that’s Indi.  Plays a little tight to the chest, that one.  Wouldn’t blame her though.  You know, I’m surprised your butt hasn’t gone boom boom.  Cobblepot’s been real hard and heavy on what counts as his territory.”

            “Well he don’t like me already so in reality…”  Wendell sat back in his seat, slicking back his white Mohawk and then spreading his arms out.  “…I’m at my best right now.”

            He offered a toast with his cup, to which Victor slowly accepted.  “To Sofia Falcone.”

            “…To Sofia.”

            Victor ended up chugging his entire milkshake as Wendell continued.  “Did you hear how the bridges came down?”

            “Nope.”

            Wendell leaned closer, gesturing with his bejeweled hand.  “I was right!  There!  Managed to get my ass back on the island when the bridges came down.  They planted bombs all over them-“

            Victor leaned his head back for a second.  “But that was almost _a month_ ago.  Dude.”

            “Eh.  Still worth talking about, if you know what I mean.”

            He shrugged, fiddling with his straw.  “Meh.”

            Wendell sat up.  “Well… how about the guy that did it in the first place?  Valeska or whatever Russian name he’s got?”

            “Oh, I’ve seen him.  On the news that day.  Paler than me, smartly dressed-“

            “-He almost puts Cobblepot to shame.”

            “Tie.  Definitely would be a tie.”

            “Yeah.  Can’t see the ostrich feather coat working on him though.”

            Victor laughed.  “Or the bedazzled shoes.”

            He did a flirtatious gesture with his hand, which made Wendell let out a throaty laugh.

            Wendell cleared his throat and sat up in his seat, moving his feet off his friend’s knees.  “But the question is… would you take on the guy?”

            Victor paused.  “I dunno.  Never one for bombs, really.  Too messy.”

            “But would you though?”

            Victor thought about it for a moment.  “Maybe.  Depends on the day.  Would add on a few more scars to the collection though.”

            “I can come along though, right?”

            “Sure.  If you got the time.”

            Wendell laughed triumphantly then clinked their cups together and finished his milkshake in one go.

            Victor watched his friend’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he finished it then drummed his fingers on his cup.  “Y’know…”  He sat up in his seat.  “…I’ve pretty much cased this half of the island-“

            “Of course you have.”

            “-but not up north.”

            “Oh brother, I wouldn’t risk it.”

            “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.  Though I got some pretty good hints on where the other peeps are.  Except Valeska.”

            “You got it all plotted on a map?”

            Victor frowned.  “Duh.”

            Wendell wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and turned toward him.  “I’m free for a couple more hours.  You wanna head back out and scope out some more city?”

            Victor opened his mouth as if to speak then turned toward him with a smirk.  Of all the people he never wanted to protest against, it was Wendell.  He had aspects of what a lot of Gothamites called an “old soul” and was probably the best man Victor knew.  He knew how to make him smile and how to charm all the restaurants they visited in the past into giving them discounts.  He was also a hell of an assassin.  It angered him when he returned from visiting his bubbe several months and found his friend losing an eye thanks to Oswald.  Wendell had a high horse he loved to climb on, sure, but he didn’t need to face the wrath of a highly irritable crime lord who had several if not hundreds of sticks up his butt.

            If anything, Wendell knew how to work the eyepatch.  Because of course he could.

            “Sure.  Why not?  Got enough paintball rounds left for the two of us.”

            The two men rose from the couch in unison and hiked into the hallway.  Victor slipped his boots back on and watched Wendell peek into the room where the other women were.  “We’re heading out againnnn!”

            Gwendoline appeared in the doorway, making him step back.  “If Violet runs into you on her way back, tell her we’re gonna set up for spoons tonight.”

            “Oh and we _shall_ indeed…”  Wendell took her hand for a moment and kissed her knuckles before nodding toward the others behind her.  “ _Ladies_.”

            Gwendoline looked toward Victor, who mouthed a quick explanation of what they were going to do.  She mouthed back a reply and motioned for him to shoo.  Victor nodded and opened the door, gesturing for Wendell to go first.  Wendell sauntered out and he followed afterwards, quickly mouthing, “ _He’s like that_ ” toward Gwendoline before closing the door behind him.


	29. Veritas Liberat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 of No Man's Land

            Right on time for the past almost three weeks, Jim watched the last of the fires spark to life in the city beneath him then switched on the searchlight.  He could feel the warm hum of electricity as it turned on, sending a beam of bright white light into the murky night sky.  It gave him a small amount of comfort submitting to something as significantly small as this.  It provided a small sense of hope, something that was quickly dwindling.

            No one had yet entered the precinct, just the occasional refugee seeking shelter.  They provided no good news, just another hungry mouth to add to the hundreds the GCPD was caring for along with an account of the sad state of Gotham.  As Jim had predicted, most of the stores had been ransacked and emptied floor and floor.  Some criminals were braver in their endeavors and even left some of the refugees with deep scars and other injuries.

            Jim recalled one refugee who approached him just three days ago, an elderly woman with a makeshift sling over her shoulder.  Her daughter (a woman his age) assisted her along with Harper, who had taken charge of the makeshift medical table with one of the younger officers.

            “Captain?  What’s your first name?”  The woman asked, her voice deep and cracking with age.  She motioned for him to get down to her level.

            “Jim, ma’am.”

            “Jim…”  The woman placed a gnarled hand on his shoulder and placed a small motherly peck on his forehead.  “I saw that searchlight in the sky this evening.  Thank you for having it on.”

            That small gesture gave him a small spring in his step that day as well as pained him.  Now more people like her came in and he felt helpless that he could do nothing to prevent it.  He wished he had the freedom to take out criminals as he once did as a bounty hunter a little over two years ago but he was needed.  Desperately.

            The door slowly opened and closed behind him.  He turned around to see Harvey walk toward him, tucking his silver flask back into his leather jacket.

            Jim sighed.  “Anything new?”

            “Nada.  Still working on getting enough stuff for any refugees.  Lucius mentioned that we might have to cut down the portion size again in a few weeks.  We’re also gonna work on getting a population count tomorrow too.”  Harvey stopped beside him then nodded toward the searchlight.  “Attract any moths yet?”

            Jim gave a small smile, shaking his head.  “None.  Yet.”  He then sighed and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets.  “You?”

            “Nah…”  Harvey glanced at him, his expression growing into one of concern.  He stepped forward and placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder.  “Hey… you need a break.  You deserve it-”

            Jim shook his head.  “Not now.  Alvarez tried telling me that too.”

            “And he’s _right_.  We’re worried about you; we don’t want you burning out your energy so soon.”

            “Harvey, I feel fine-“

            “When was the last time you’ve slept?”

            Jim glanced down at Harvey’s hand still on his shoulder then looked at the searchlight.

            “Yeah that’s what I thought.”

            He hung his head for a moment then closed his eyes with a sigh.  He opened his eyes after a moment of silence then looked out toward the dark city.  “Why does it feel like we’ve done nothing?  Why do I feel like I’ve let you all down?”

            “Because we haven’t faced anything like this before, anything this… _huge_ in scale.  You’re not alone on that aspect; we all feel terrible.”

            “ **Harvey** -“

            “But it’s not just your cross to bear; it’s everyone’s.”  His partner then gently shook him.  “Jim, you’re droopin’ on me.”

            Jim blinked rapidly then rubbed at the corner of his eyes.

            Harvey nodded toward the searchlight.  “Seriously.  I can watch it.  What time do you usually turn it off?”

            Jim ran his hand over his mouth in thought and turned toward Harvey.  He studied his partner’s face for a moment then slowly nodded.  Relaxing his shoulders, he looked back toward the city with a sigh.  “…as soon as the sun rises.”

            Harvey patted him on the shoulder then ran his other hand through his partner’s comb over.  “Get some beauty sleep, partner.  You’ll need it.”

            Jim swiped Harvey’s hands away with a soft hum.  He watched his partner get a spot situated next to the searchlight then walked away.  Slowly making his way back down the long flight of stairs to the precinct, he let his hand drag along the old iron railing beside him.  His pace was slower as his body began to register how tired he turned out to be.  He eventually made it down to the upper floor before taking the last flight down to the main floor, passing other officers gathered around a pin board full of Gotham maps.

            In the evenings, everything ran slow.  Harper and Lucius were aiding the refugees settle down in the newly christened “Green Zone” and the border patrols were on duty.  The only audible sound was the soft hum of the generator in the captain’s office.  The fact that it was once a powerful bomb was not lost on Jim.

             He stopped in the middle of the precinct and looked toward the entrance. 

            Nothing.  He knew no one would come.  Yet he looked anyway.

            Stuffing his hands back in his pockets, Jim carried on.

            Several of the officers nodded toward him as he trudged past.  They all looked up to him, turned to him for advice.  Some of the officers were like Harvey, several years older than him and possessing many years of service under their belts. 

            So why did he feel like half of the work contributed to nothing?  Why did he still feel he let everyone down?  People looked up to him and yet he felt he deserved none of it.

            He found himself walking into the locker room.  Quietly closing the door behind him, he slowly removed his jacket and tossed it onto the bench in front of him with a sigh.  He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the sink.  Jim wiped the grime off the mirror with one of the hand towels then carefully wiped his face off with a clean wipe.  He was able to muster a small amount of water to shave his face.  When he was done, he placed his hands on either side of the sink and stared at his reflection.

            Anything concerning the criminals running rampant on the rest of the island vanished from his mind.

            He thought of Bruce and Alfred, who found cover in the Green Zone.

            He thought of Selina, laying in a hospital bed.

            He thought of Lee, still stuck in the Narrows with Nygma.  He thought of her kiss goodbye and how she was resigned to her fate of being stuck once again in Gotham.

            He even thought of the other officers who used to share the locker room with him once.

            How things had changed.

            He slowly moved away from the mirror and sat down on the bench.  After a moment of consideration, Jim laid back on the cold metal and stuffed his coat under his head, staring up at the ceiling.  Ladybugs danced around the flickering lights above him.

            Nothing soothed him.

            Taking a long, long moment of consideration, he rolled off the bench and got onto his knees.  Scooting forward, he propped his elbows up on the bench and clasped his hands together.  Jim let out a forlorn sigh and looked up toward the heavens.


	30. Ace in the Hole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 of No Man's Land

           The worker collapsed to his knees, holding a hand to his throat.  He let out a horrible gargling noise before his bloodshot eyes rolled back into his skull.  Not a second later, he fell over.  Soon a small stream of blood flowed down toward the drain.  It was almost invisible against the blacktop road.  The worker let out a small twitch before he relaxed.  His skin grew pale and he stopped moving.

            Jeremiah felt unsatisfied.  The swift kill was unbelievably dull.  He flicked the blood off his straight razor then wiped it off with a handkerchief, turning toward the door.  He removed his hat as he walked back inside, knocking off any debris that stuck to his shoes.

            The workers that waited on him on either side of the door didn’t wait for a snappy order; they went straight outside to clean up.  Good.  Jeremiah didn’t feel like addressing anyone else in the complex.

            Being trapped in a labyrinth spoiled him; he wanted someone competent to talk with.  Bruce was always away and he was not ready to face him yet.  The thought of his best friend in general sent a shiver up his spine.  He absolutely couldn’t wait to hear from him.

            But Bruce probably devoted his time looking out for his beloved Selina.  And Alfred was sure to have an iron grip when it came to Bruce’s actions these days.  Everyone was perfectly distracted by everyone else.  It gave Jeremiah the opportunity to complete his magnum opus.

            And he despised it all.

            He slammed the door closed behind him and tossed the handkerchief in a trash bin nearby.  Hanging up his coat and hat, he brushed off his gloves and walked back down the hall.  The quiet sounds of men diligently working rang in his ears but he paid no attention.  Other workers walked by, muttering their afternoon greetings and attempting small talk amongst one another.  He ignored them.

            Jeremiah paused outside the door.  He found himself raising his hand as if to knock then lowered it.  Letting out a disapproving groan, he stepped inside the small room.

            It turned out working around Ecco’s injury was relatively easy.  After the doctor came in to bandage her wound and pump antibiotics in her veins, she slept almost ninety-nine percent of the time so he was able to schedule his days accordingly.  He didn’t trust anyone else in the complex to keep an eye on her.  During the day, he took charge of the workers and tolerated none of their questioning.

            The doctor was very much stretching it.  Jeremiah already went out and got the man all the supplies needed.  It took a little manhandling and some Sufentanil to do it but it was all for the main objective.

            He had already set up a little office in the corner of the room to overlook Ecco in the very early mornings and very late evenings.    On this particular morning, he sat in his little office and worked on the maps of the city.  He had to keep fixing the lampshade from hitting the wall next to him and opening the small window in the room to let in.

            Ecco remained unconscious, her face pale and her eyes closed.

            He adjusted the window one more time and looked down at her.  “You need to be up.”

            She remained silent.

            Jeremiah adjusted his jacket and looked around as if someone was watching.  He then knelt down to look at her with a forlorn sigh, smoothing the hair out of her face.  “ _Ecco_ … _please_.  You’re the only one I trust around here.  The least you could do for me is _get moving_.”

            He leaned toward her face.  “ _Wake up_.”

            She didn’t move.

            Jeremiah rose back onto his feet.  He began to walk back toward his desk when he heard a soft moan.  He slowly turned on his heel to look at the source.

            Ecco’s eyes opened, sticky with sleep and dried tears.  She gasped loudly in fright at the room and tried looking around, kneading her fingers into a thick quilted blanket over her.  “Wh-how…”

            Perhaps whatever listened to him was with him today.

            Ecco let out a small yelp of pain as she tried getting up.  Jeremiah immediately went to her side and sat on the mattress.  He carefully pried Ecco’s hand away from the IV lead in her arm.  She tried yanking her hand away but he kept his grip tight on her wrist.  “Ecco, _relax_.”

            She let out a snort and began to hyperventilate in panic, looking around once more.  Her movements were staccato like a bird.  Her eyes seemed to pop out of her skull in fright; he had never seen his proxy so scared before.  “ _Where_ -“ 

            “The complex in the Dark Zone.  You were brought back here after getting shot.  Now relax.”

            Ecco tried to look around again but let out a whimper of pain, cupping a hand around her gunshot wound.  Jeremiah slowly let go of her hand and watched her relax, leaning toward her curiously.  She wiped away tears from her eyes then laid back down.  She then looked up at him and gave a closed lipped smile.  “ _Hi_ …”

            Her voice was soft and airy now, which surprised him.  It sounded like a delighted little coo, something akin to an old film star.

            He let his hands fumble near hers, ignoring the tremor in his voice.  “Do you remember?”

            Ecco paused then pointed at her head.  “ _This_.”

            “Why?”

            She averted his gaze for a moment, her lips pursed in thought.  “They wanted to find you.  I wouldn’t tell them…”

            “ _They_?”

            She paused as Jeremiah ran a hand over her hair, smoothing it down.  “…it was done Roulette style… yeah…”  She rubbed her eyes again.  “Yeah…”

            “ _Who did it_?”

            She paused, her eyes glazed over.  He froze in confusion.  Ecco tried covering her face with her hands but Jeremiah gently pulled them away.

            “ _Tell me_ who did it, Ecco.”  He said a little more urgently.

            She let out an ironic giggle then sighed shakily, her voice quivering.  “They… made me do it…”

            Jeremiah’s grip on her hands grew stronger and more painful as he grew angry.  “What.”

            “…made me shoot myself… I refused to betray you… I would never…”

            Jeremiah abruptly let go and looked her in the eye for what seemed a long time.  This woman had changed everything for him- and it was surprisingly moving.  Part of him was also shaking in fury at the thought of her being tortured by strange people.  However, pros outweighed the cons:  her loyalty to him trumped everything else- even death.

            He knew one word to describe it.  “Beautiful.”

            Ecco let out a soft snort through her nose.

            “How does it feel now?”

            She chuckled, smiling with her teeth this time.  “Like nothing at all.”

            She seemed careless, as if the bullet did nothing to her.  She looked him in the eye and began to blush, shifting her body so that her blanket covered her.

            Jeremiah relaxed against her, propping his elbow up on her leg.  “I hear nothing is a good thing nowadays.”

            Ecco gave him a sincere smile.  “Isn’t it?”

            Jeremiah studied her silently, his eyes narrowed in thought.  He then smiled and leaned toward her, which made her lean back to accommodate him.

            Ecco let out a small gasp then smoothed back a stray hair on his forehead.  “Yes, Jeremiah?”

            The way she said his name was like liquid honey.  He liked the small smile that was growing on her face and the utterly devoted look she gave him.

            She stopped smiling when he gently turned her head to the side with his hand.  A large ugly black healing hole was right behind her ear, peeking out from the thick bandage, the edges starting to show slivers of purple.

            He didn’t like her pretty head being damaged.  But it was all for him.  Devotion went the longest of ways in his eyes.

            He let out a small purr and let go, making her look back at him.  “You do so much for me, Ecco.”

            Ecco blushed again.

            Jeremiah then became serious.  “Tell me you’re staying.”

            She gave him a sad look, her eyes searching his face.  “Yes.  Of course.  I never want to leave you.”

            “Say it again.”

            “I never want to leave you for any reason.  It’s you until I die-“

            “Now be serious, Ecco-“

            “I am!  _Please_ …”

            Her eyes widened in pain as she tried to sit up.  She let out a groan and laid back down, fixing the pillow under her head.  Jeremiah watched her fidget a bit more then look up at him with pleading eyes.  She craved his approval.

            He gave her a faint smile.  “I accept.”

            Ecco about deflated like a balloon in relief.  She then rubbed at her eyes.  “Is there a light on…”

            Jeremiah slowly reached up and closed the window slightly.

            “It’s hard to see… everything’s blurry…”

            “As in?”

            Ecco went cross eyed for a moment then tried focusing on him.  “Hmm?”

            Jeremiah scooted forward uneasily as Ecco tried adjusting her pillow again.  He snapped his fingers in front of her face, making a Z in the air.  She promptly tried to follow his fingers with her eyes then snapped her eyes shut briefly to refocus.  “That bullet is making you see things.  There’s more supplies on the way and a doctor-“

            He snapped his head towards the door with a growl.  “- _who is already trying my patience_ …”

            Ecco tried to tilt her head towards him, her eyes beginning to glaze back over.  “Are there?”  Her voice lapsed back into an airy, almost fake gasp.  She was testing the waters with her voice box.

            Jeremiah peered over her then stiffened as Ecco tried focusing on him again, her hand reaching up to brush the bottom of his chin.  He watched her face contort in confusion then smooth out with a smile.

            “Being blind must really suck.”  She commented.

            Jeremiah chuckled darkly, closing his eyes for a moment in hilarity.  He grabbed the comforter under him then let out a sigh.  He flinched as Ecco let her hand travel up to his temple then let his shoulders relax.  “Yes, Ecco, I’m still here.”

            “Just making sure of things…”  She studied his face once more.  He tried his best not to fidget under her touch.  She then licked her thumb and attempted to wipe something off his nose.  “Who did you kill?”  She whispered.

            Jeremiah let out a reluctant scoff then tutted his tongue.  “Don’t be upset.  If anything, he deserved getting killed.  A lot of these workers have the _muscle_ to get the job done but not enough of that… eloquent _charm_ …”

            One of Ecco’s pale eyebrows rose in surprise and she gave a sly smile.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”  She replied fondly.

            He let her thumb massage his scalp for a moment, savoring the smooth movements over his skin, then awkwardly guided her hand back down to her side.  “Sleep.  Now.”

            Ecco nodded silently.

            They looked at each other for a moment before Ecco’s eyes started to drift close.  Jeremiah fixed her blanket and stood up as Ecco fell asleep.  He traveled over to his evening desk and sat down in his chair, watching his proxy sleep.  Her small frame was bundled under the thick blanket and her pale blonde hair encircled her head like a small halo. 

            Jeremiah picked up her leather jacket and threw it back over the bench near him.  As he began to turn back to his work, something dropped to the floor.  His hands twitched in annoyance as he let out a groan and turned back.

            A small package had fallen to the floor.  He walked over and slowly leaned down to pick it up.  Once he did, he then paused.  Ecco would have been too selfless to hoard secret items.  Unless it was important.  Usually she presented things to him as bluntly as possible… perhaps she had meant to do the same before-

            He growled, banishing the thought from his head.  He carefully ran his hand over the newspaper wrapping then removed it without damaging it.  After laying the newspaper on his desk, he tapped the velvet case with one finger and opened it.  His hand trembled and he let out a small gasp of shock.  He sat on top of his desk and held it toward the lamp light.

            A simple yet elegant three-stranded pearl necklace sat inside the case.  All of its soft yellow pearls shined in the light.  It even had the same gold clasp at the top.  His heart beat rapidly in his chest.  Martha had always fancied pearls, he had remembered Thomas Wayne saying-

            Jeremiah froze.  He snapped the case closed then picked up the newspaper.  He folded over the edges under the main article was visible and used his knee as a hard surface.  The corner of his mouth curled up slightly as he continued to read.

            It felt like a thousand lightbulbs switched on his head; it made him feel warm and his hands clench.  He knew the raw emotion that flooded his senses but failed to give it a proper name.  Something felt out of place somehow. 

            He longed for something, something he knew his friend needed too.  It was there… right _there_ … at the tip of his tongue.

            Jeremiah placed the newspaper down on the desk and held it down with a finger.  He frowned in concentration then paused, clamping a hand over his growing smile.  Tears dared to roll down his cheeks and he let out an exhilarated huff.

            “They all look so _happy_ …”  Jeremiah murmured then uncovered his mouth with a breathless gasp.  He picked up the velvet case and set it carefully under the newspaper.

            He finally knew the answer.


	31. Ginger Snaps

           Bruce stared blankly at the table in front of him.  The bundles of plastic silverware laid untouched next to him as well as the plastic plates.  He had been assigned to set a reasonable enough table for whatever breakfast they could scrounge up and so far, he did nothing.  His eyes were dry and he felt an uncomfortable buzz throughout his body.

            The holes in the doily table runner began to distort and swirl like a strange creature.  With sunlight shining in, the bright white began to fade into a yellow.  Bruce slowly looked up to see the holes at the very edge curl upward into a lopsided crescent moon shape.  Some of the threads began to twist and fray.  The frayed ends overlapped the strange crescent moon shape, making it look like a small smile.

            He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and blinked slowly.

            The table runner was back to normal. 

            Bruce dragged it toward him and rubbed it between his fingers in confusion.  He was definitely seeing… something.  Letting it drop back onto the table, he slowly reached over to the plastic silverware and began opening one of the bundles with his teeth.  He managed to get his place at the table set when Alfred walked in.  Even the sound of Alfred setting down cans of food on the counter made him flinch.

            The older man quietly observed Bruce’s progress then sat down next to him.  Immediately, his silver eyebrows rose in concern.  “Good lord, Master Bruce.  How long has it been since you slept?”

            “I slept last night.  I’m just… still tired.”

            That was a lie.  He hadn’t slept.  For quite a while.

            He could tell his response didn’t satisfy Alfred, who simply reached forward and placed a hand on his shoulder.  “How about… after you’re done and we’ve finished breakfast, I’ll warm up a fire for us and you can sleep in your chair?”

            He didn’t want to sleep.  There were things to do.  “…I can finish.”

            “There’s a lad.”  Alfred gently patted Bruce’s cheek and got up.  “I’m going to get properly dressed then I’ll be down.”

            Bruce stared at the table runner again.  “OK.”

            He listened to Alfred leave the kitchen then sat back in his chair.  _There were things to do_.  He ripped open another bundle and hurriedly set Alfred’s place before getting up to throw the window open.  The curtains were almost ripped from the metal rod at the speed he pushed them aside.  Once a blast of morning air hit him in the face, he closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

            Bruce then turned back around and sat at his place at the table.  Something still didn’t feel right with him, something irked him to the degree that it made goosebumps appear on his arms.  His ears popped and his vision grew fuzzy around the edges.  Rubbing at his eyes again did not help when he tried again.

            Plus that damned table runner looked like it was twisting of its own accord.  Which was impossible.

            Someone began to laugh.  The sound seemed to echo and bounce off the cabinets around him, growing louder and mischievous.

            He promptly scooted back in his chair.  With that, the laughing stopped.

            “ _Brucie…_ ”

            Jerome stood in front of him, his funeral suit wrinkled and his pressed white shirt covered in speckles of dirt.  “Well aren’t you a righteous stick in the mud…”

            “Go away.  You’re dead.”

            “ _Ohhh_ , don’t remind me.  We could have been a good team together!  You know, if I didn’t plummet.  Gordon is real gung ho about justice or something like that.”

            Jerome then hopped up onto the table and laid down, pushing the rest of the plates and silverware off.  “How’s the family?  Like not your parents since they’re-“ he awkwardly cleared his throat, sending dirt onto his front.  “-dead.  You know what, let’s stop talking about dead people.”

            “You’re one to talk.”

            Jerome cackled triumphantly then sat up to lean forward and pinch Bruce’s nose fondly.  “Well the scarecrow does have a brain after all…”

            Bruce swatted his hand away, getting out of his seat.  “You’re dead.  You’re not here.  I’m just dreaming.”

            “Mmmmm… kinda.  Yeah, let’s roll with that.”

            Jerome rolled off the table and adjusted his tie and gloves.  “How’s brother dear?”

            “Gone.  Thanks to you.  He blew up the bridges connecting Gotham to the mainland.”  Bruce ranted.  His mind reeled and he found himself not able to stop.  “Now he’s fortified himself somewhere and-“

            “-he must pay for his crimes?”  Jerome yawned.  “Boring!  You’re so boring, Bruce!  And predictable!  Do something cool for once and just kill him.”

            “I will not kill.”

            “That mantra again?!?  Put some thou’s and thee’s in there, spice it up a bit.  Make Shakespeare spin in his grave.”

            Jerome pulled up a chair and sat on it backwards.  “I like my new Jeremiah.  So precocious, isn’t he?  He’s blossomed into his own special flower.  Like you.  If anything, you helped each other.  Shaped each other really.”

            Bruce gave him a confused look.  “I don’t think therapy from a dead man will help me reach nirvana.”

            Jerome laughed.  “Cute.  Perhaps you could… indulge me as to your therapy-“

            Bruce huffed angrily.  ”You’re delusional.”

            “…I _believe_ I’m talking to Bruce Wayne, right?  Or did I get mistaken?  He’s usually good at picking up all these hints-“

            “You’re wrong.  I am nothing like your brother.”

            Bruce paused as the other man gave him a dubious look and laughed hysterically.

            “Surrreeee ya are…” Jerome taunted then began to count down with his fingers.  “You’ve both troubled by a traumatic event involving a family member or so, you both got that-“ he cleared his throat and looked at him coyly, speaking in a nasally tone.  “- _special someone_ … of sorts.”

            Bruce’s eyes burned into the dead man, who sat up in his seat and hiked leg over the back of the chair casually.

            Jerome grinned at him.  “Plus… you got me.  I plague his gas-riddled mind all the time as well.  In reality, you two should be thanking me.”

            “ _Thanking_ you?”  Bruce demanded incredulously then gestured toward the window with one hand.  “For all this?  Or is this my head making you say all this to drill whatever misery and insanity you spread into me?”

            “There it is.”  Jerome let out a victorious chuckle and clapped.  “That stubborn yet intelligent brain at work.  You’re just so _proud_ because you can outsmart everyone.  Congratulations.  Admit it, you don’t like being psychoanalyzed like this because you know everything I say is absolutely true.  Your head is too tightly wound in this whole justice helter skelter to even admit it.”

            “Go away.”

            “No can do, Master Bruce.”  Jerome taunted in a British accent, waving his finger at him.  “Didn’t Fish Mooney do that one thing where- oh yeah!”  He tutted his tongue and shook his finger.  “Oh that’s a good one!  If Galavan didn’t axe me the first time, I would have loved to-“

            “Leave?”

            “No can do.  You see… I’m always here.”

            Bruce flinched as Jerome poked his forehead.

            “In your rich boy noggin.  Every time you think of Jeremiah, you think of me.  You think about… how you didn’t stop me in time.  Burdened by your own wisdom.  If you just killed me in that mirror maze, brother dear wouldn’t have lost his marbles.  Well one could argue that that was his own damn fault in the first place.”

            “You’re lying.”

            “So, if you think about it, I’ll be haunting you for the rest of your life.”

            Jerome let out a small hum then picked an earthworm off his ear, flicking it onto the table.  “Well if we can agree on one mantra I like of yours…”

            Bruce couldn’t take it anymore.  “And what is that?” he snarled.

            Jerome got in Bruce’s face and laughed maniacally.  “ _You’ve got things to do._ ”

            Something landed on the table with a very loud smack.  Bruce looked down to see that the table runner dropped onto the bench beside him.  A jolt of pain shot up his hand and he quickly pulled it away with a choked gasp.  He ran his hands through his hair, his chest heaving in alarm.

            With that, Jerome was gone.  As if he was never there- no sign of dirt, earthworms.  The other bundles of silverware were in complete disarray and his table settings were skewed from slamming his hand down.

            “Bruce?”

            Alfred stood in the entrance of the kitchen, fully dressed.  He stared at Bruce in confusion then looked around at everything on the floor.  “What’s happened?”

            Bruce’s mind went into panic mode.  He did **not** want Alfred to get dragged into whatever mess he was currently in.  _There were things to do_ \- and he wanted to tackle them alone.  Without any more harm toward others.

            “I’ll… I’ll start a fire after this.”  He stated blankly, rearranging his spot at the table.  Delicately picking the table runner up, he set it on the table.

            It began to morph back into a smile, a vision of his sleep-deprived mind.  Just like Jerome.

            Bruce solved the problem by covering it up with the extra plates.


	32. Smooth Sailing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 29 of No Man's Land

           Oswald sat in the back of the patrol car, staring ahead at the exposed windshield.  He tapped out a tune on his kneecaps in order to keep himself from dying of boredom.  His ostrich feather lined coat was tightly wrapped around him despite the heat running full blast.  Letting out a huff, he leaned forward to wipe the condensation gathering in the windshield.

            Something had bothered him about today.  It was no vision, just an odd feeling.  He demanded that he accompany the patrol guards this morning and right now it was incredibly boring.  They had him remain in the car for safety while they did their routines, even popping the front windows open slightly to let in air.  It made him feel like a child.

            One thing was struggling to keep him somewhat entertained- a considerably big hole the bottom of the fence.  It was blocked off to both sides with a very thin, sheer layer of electrical fence that he could see from a distance.  And right now, he saw nothing.

            He impatiently slapped his knees in response.  “Oh give me something…”  he muttered quietly to himself.

            Not long after he said that, the sound of moving vehicles pierced the air.  He caught a glimpse of something black with a shiny silver grill pulling up to the fence with a dull roar.  Another pair of cop cars must have pulled up behind it, their red, white, and blue emergency lights still flashing silently for a moment before turning off.

            The odd feeling returned.  Oswald perked up in interest as the black car door opened.  It had to be who he thought it was. 

            Sure enough, the captain of the GCPD stepped out of his vehicle.  Tugging his tan overcoat away from the car door, he walked forward then leaned against the hood, crossing his arms and looking up at the barbed wire up top of the bolted gates.

            Oswald leaned forward to watch his friend.  Jim looked tired.  Sure he always looked like he was on the verge of sanity, what with everything happening, but now he looked very… worn out.  His posture slumped slightly and he didn’t seem to carry himself with the same stubborn gusto. 

            The sight of a defeated Jim Gordon was a sad one to behold.

            Yet… with a small shake of his head, Jim was back to normal.  He raised his chin and sat up a little straighter.  His gaze went to distant to determined, like flipping a switch.  The man was too much of a Boy Scout for his own good- damn him.  He turned toward a pair of officers who walked up to him and began to talk.  The two officers nodded and walked to another part of the border after a minute of conversation.

            Oswald tried to look around for the guards but they were not visible.  He let out a groan and rolled his eyes.

            Jim then turned in his direction.  It was as if he was looking directly at him.

            Oswald immediately sat back and almost sank to the floor.  The handle of his cane dug awkwardly into his hip and his knees touched the front seats.  His neck would definitely have a creak in it.

            A loud definite pop from his bad knee made it worse.

            He winced loudly then pulled himself back up into his seat, planting his feet on the floor.  Carefully massaging his knee with his hands, he tried sitting up to watch for anything else.

            Now the captain was idly looking at the top of the gate, adjusting the collar of his overcoat.

            Then he did it again; he lowered his head and seemed to look right at him.  Oswald smirked, hoping his old friend could see.

            Jim looked away, turning to walk elsewhere along the border.  Oswald began to sit up higher when he felt something brush the side of the car.  One of the guards, who carefully slid across the hood of the car and hopped into the driver’s seat, obstructed his view.  The other guard climbed into the passenger seat and turned back toward Oswald.  “Nothing irregular to report.”

            Oswald leaned toward him and nodded toward the gate before them.  “Jim Gordon was just waltzing around right near here before you showed up.”

            “Did he do anything?”

            He sat back in his seat with a painful grunt and then smirked.  “No.  And I don’t reckon he will yet.”

\---

            The ride back was quiet.  He refused to let any of the guards help him up the stairs, instead resorting to slowly stumbling by himself.  Getting back into the mayor’s office, he paused near the grand staircase to soak in the sunshine streaming through the large windows.  He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a contented sigh.  “Today’s going to be a good day.”

            Adjusting his grip on his cane, he plopped down into one of the white cushioned chairs and sat back.  The dull grinding pain in his bad knee began to subside at last.  He relaxed even more into his seat, resting his neck on the back of the chair and splaying his hands out on the arms.  He let out another contented sigh and then slowly sat back up as the doors opened and shut with a resounding boom.

            Mr. Penn minced his way into the office, the bulldog panting happily beside him.  “Good morning, Mr. Cobblepot.  As you’ve requested, he’s been out for his morning business.”

            “Very good…”

            “And work has made excellent progress; by my calculations, we should be able to hit the… well, market with your bullets before the end of the month.”

            “Also very good.”  Oswald cooed as he patted his good leg with his hand.  The bulldog tottered over to him, yanking the leash out of Mr. Penn’s hand, and began excitedly jumping in place.  He laughed as the dog began to yip and reached his hand out to pat its wrinkled head.

            His secretary stayed put, awkwardly rolling up the red metal leash and placing it on the chair beside him.  He stayed eerily quiet as well, a worried expression blooming on his face. 

            “Ohhh… why such the _long_ face, Mr. Penn?”  Oswald asked playfully, rubbing his dog’s cheeks with both hands.  “Aren’t you glad that I’ve about single handedly provided protection for the denizens of Gotham?”

            Mr. Penn nodded quickly.  “Of course, Mr. Cobblepot sir.”

            Oswald narrowed his eyes at him for a moment then sat back, letting go of his dog.  He raised a shaking finger in the air as he spoke.  “You know… one thing I’ve learned over my ever ongoing rise to power, I can tell when certain people lie to me.”

            Mr. Penn started to open his mouth, ready to raise an argument, but closed it, letting out a reluctant huff.  “You know how some people have this little voice of doubt in the back of their head?”

            Oswald paused then slowly shook his head.  “Nooo… why?”

            “Well that’s just the thing, sir.  Unfortunately mine seems to act nastier than most.  I fear…”

            “What is it?”

            His secretary fiddled with his hands in front of him.  “…What if we’re not the only ones making bullets?”

            “You think anyone’s gonna buy bullets off of anyone else in this town?”

            “I know you don’t like talking about it but what about up north?”

            “I don’t need to worry about who’s up there.  Victor Fries and Firefly don’t rely on bullets for their constant feuding and there’s corrupt materials up there.  If anything, we could have some people look around up there for anything good left; that’s a rather good idea, Mr. Penn. “

            “Yes and the Sirens have maintained their position near Coventry.  And Zsasz is-“

            “I want no mention of that name in my presence again.  He is dead to me.  He got far more muddled in that silly Falcone business than you ever were and he will pay dearly for it.”

            “Of course, Mr. Cobblepot.”

            Oswald let out an irritated groan and waved his hand toward his secretary.  “You were saying about up north?”

            One of the guards- Perron- cleared his throat.  “Mr. Cobblepot, if I may interrupt, the workers have started addressing that particular area as the ‘Dark Zone.’”

            Oswald turned to stare incredulously at him.  He looked back at Mr. Penn, who gave a clueless shrug.  He let out a shocked scoff and whipped back around toward the guard.  “ _Really_?!?”

            Perron nodded silently.

            He scoffed again then turned back toward his secretary.  “All right, so the ‘Dark Zone?’”

            “Isn’t there someone on the loose still?  The man who tore down the bridges?”

            The guards cast each other uneasy glances.

            Mr. Penn froze at the growing tension in the room and lowered his head along with his voice. “What was his name?”

            “Well you don’t have to _mumble_ it.”  Oswald retorted, rising from his seat.  He adjusted his cane in his hand and carefully shuffled over to the doors.  Mr. Penn followed closely behind him.  “His name is Jeremiah Valeska and if _anyone_ can confirm his location, I will personally escort a team to wherever he is and take him down like the circus _hyena filth_ he was related to.”

            “V-Very good, sir.”

            The two guards flanking the doors nodded toward him and opened the doors.  Oswald strode into the other room, his cane clicking on the floor beneath him.  Mr. Penn picked up his clipboard from the inn table next to him and hugged it to his chest.  Before them were four short rows of people at tables, meticulously cleaning large golden piles of new bullets.  At the end of each table were large plastic baskets, most of them almost half full.  Each basket held different kind of bullets that the workers were able to make from the materials around Oswald’s territory.  A group of workers was huddled around a large cast iron furnace, their work clothes covered in ash.  One large man dipped a clamp into the fire and pulled out several new bullets, the new metal still dripping onto the protected metal covers.  Once he dropped them onto a small metal drain, two other workers quickly went to work separating them and spraying them with water to cool off.  Condensation dripped down the windows around the room and small plumes of smoke wafted into the air from the furnace.

            Oswald waved a hand in front of his face to block the constant stenches of metal and ash then brushed off his shoulder.  He let out a loud yawn and began walking along some of the tables.  The workers, as he expected, kept their eyes focused on their work.  He also knew his well-kept well-dressed clean self was a stark contrast to the filth most of the workers in the room.  Then again, he never saw himself as one to stoop low enough to that level.  The last time that happened, Grace van Dahl and her children learned very quickly that that was a _terrible_ mistake.

            One of the workers at the cleaning table in front of him looked up from her work with a hesitant smile.  “Good morning, Mr. Cobblepot!”

            “Good morning.  I see some of you are in good spirits.  How are our bullets faring?”

            The worker nodded, wiping her hands on the towel attached to her belt and got to her feet.  “All smooth sailing, sir.  We should be able to test the first ones by the end of the week.”

            Oswald leaned back toward his assistant.  “Mr. Penn, can we get a head count of how many are catalogued when this occurs?”

            “Oh… _absolutely_ , Mr. Cobblepot!”

            He smirked then nodded toward the worker, who sat back down to clean more bullets.

            Mr. Penn cautiously began removing his feathered coat.  “Might I also add that by the end of the day, more workers are going out for more materials…?”

            Oswald spun toward him, taking his coat back and draping it over his arm.  “Why aren’t there people going out now?  We need all the materials we can get.”

            “But sir, the workers-“

            “These bullets are extremely valuable right now.  Do you think letting down any potential customers with a limited supply is a good idea, Arnold?”

            “It’s Arthur.”

            “Oh, I don’t _know_!  But do you think that’s a good idea because _I_ don’t.”

            Mr. Penn sighed.  “…no, it’s not.”

            Oswald sighed and placed his hands on his secretary’s shoulders.  “ _Thank you_.  I trust you can get these fine men and women into groups by the end of the hour to do that.”

            His secretary gave a small nod.  That was all he needed.

            He clapped his hands together and walked back to his office, leaving Mr. Penn behind.  The bulldog patiently waited outside and began panting as it ran to catch up with him.  “Now!  To visit our _fine_ cooks and see what we’ll be receiving for breakfast, shall we?”


	33. Lightbulb Battered Bug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31 of No Man's Land

            It had been a day shy of a month since the bridges went down.  Nothing but planning and planning and more planning.  Projects, projects, projects.  Work, work, work.

            Jeremiah found himself strangely talking to himself more.  Thoughts of Bruce Wayne danced in his head more and more as he worked on blueprints.  The scrapped plans lay in the wastebasket pushed in the corner, away from his peripheral vision.

            He walked back into his office after a break and slapped his hat down on his desk.  Running his hands through his hair with a frustrated growl, he began to pace the room.

            “ _Not the way… not the way **he would do it**.  Not the-“_

            He broke out into a laughing fit, which brought tears to his eyes.  Holding his hand to his stomach, he paused.  One of the side effects of Jerome’s gas were small bothersome outbursts of laughter that made him nauseous and his ears pop.  He let out a shaky breath then chuckled in annoyance.  “ ** _He_** _could help with that_ -“

            Someone knocked quietly on a hard surface behind him.

            Ecco stood in the doorway, her trembling fist resting on the wall beside her.  Her hair was ruffled from sleep and her eyes were dark.  Her dull clothes were wrinkled and beginning to fray around her sleeve cuffs, the stray threads covering her knuckles.  A thick blue shawl tightly wrapped around her shoulders like a cape, emphasizing her thin figure.  She muttered a small apology and tried backing away when Jeremiah cleared his throat towards her.

            “I’ve been told that you were to be staying in bed rest.”  He stated stiffly.  “Apparently, that’s not the case anymore.”

            “Staying still is a _bore_ …”  Ecco replied, taking her hand off the wall and massaging it.

            Jeremiah raised an eyebrow at her.  “Not exactly the attitude I expected after getting shot.”

            Ecco let out the tiniest chuckle and gave him the worst curtsy imaginable.

            Jeremiah smoothed back his hair and watched her adjust her tangled blonde hair.  She tried tying her hair back into her old tight ballerina bun and let out a small wince when it was too tight, snapping her eyes closed for a second.  She carefully loosened the tie and tied her hair into a very loose, messy ponytail.  He watched her wound on the side of her neck as she did so.  It clearly did not seem to bother her when she worked at her blonde head.  Her fingers worked meticulously at her hair and she bit her lip in concentration, a habit he never noticed before from her.

            “Tell me, Ecco-“

            Yes?”  Her voice came out as a delicate coo again.  Her head might have been scrambled from a bit but it seemed that she maintained some sense of… stability.

            “…Can you still handle a gun?”

            Ecco paused as if to process the query then nodded silently.

            Jeremiah pulled out his gun from his holster and offered it to her.  He then drew it away as she walked up to him.  “Certain?”

            Ecco looked at him expectantly.  She then nodded affirmatively and took the gun from him, checking the clip.  She then fired the gun repeatedly into the wastebasket in the corner.  Jeremiah grinned as she rubbed her tired eyes with the back of her wrist, ignoring the fact that she was holding a smoking gun.  Ecco caught his grin and smiled back, biting her lip mischievously.  She then handed him back the gun then hissed as her hands began to twitch.

            “Careful.  Shaky hands can cause a lot of damage.”  Jeremiah warned.

            Ecco shook them out violently.  “I feel like a wet dog…”

            Before Jeremiah could interject, she then stepped back and shook her head.  Her eyes rolled to the side for a second as if she was knocked over the head.  That bullet was probably the cause- like a reset button.

            He rather liked it.

            “In a bit, I’ll be wagging a little puppy tail if I had it.”  Ecco said, adjusting her shawl with a grin.

            Jeremiah let out a small chuckle then paused.  “Tell me, Ecco… is what I’m looking at real?”

            Ecco’s smile disappeared at his concerned tone.  “What do you mean?”

            Jeremiah carefully placed his hand on the bottom of her chin and brought her face closer to his.  Ecco gasped, her eyes widening in shock.

            “Do you remember what you told me the first time you woke up?”  Jeremiah asked, picking at the fabric of her shawl innocently.  “Repeat that please.  I believe my memory is getting a little… cloudy with all the industrial smoke churning in this place.”

            “You… asked me to stay with you… and I said yes.”  Ecco muttered softly, staring him in the eye.  Her voice grew higher pitched at the end of the sentence as if she was getting ready to cry.

            Jeremiah watched her speak.  He then clasped both of her hands and leaned back against his desk, bringing her closer to him.  “Oh… Ecco, Ecco, Ecco…”

            “Ecco, Ecco, Ecco…”  Ecco dramatically repeated back with a grin.

            They both giggled.

            Jeremiah brought his face closer to hers again, making her breath hitch.  She paused as he let his thumb play at the corner of her mouth then gazed at him with wide eyes, her pupils dilating.

            Jeremiah chuckled at her reaction then stopped, putting his hand back in hers.  “I need a lieutenant, a second in command.  Are you up for it?”

            “Of course.  Anything.”  She replied softly.

            He nodded with a hum.

            They took each other in again, Ecco glancing down and gently rubbing his knuckles with her thumbs.  Jeremiah tried leaning away but found himself relaxing into the strange warmth.  He did not have time to be gazing off into the distance with her but he enjoyed her company.

            He moved back toward her mouth then slowly drew back with a small, teasing grin.  Once her attention was fixed back onto him, he spoke to her in a deep, coy purr.  “Then I do have something for you to do.  For _me_.”

            “Yes?”

            Ecco was absolutely enthralled by him.  There were probably goosebumps growing all over her arms when he spoke to her.  She looked at him as if he was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.  Her pulse in her wrist began to beat faster and faster and she grew warm in his touch.  Good.  The parameters of love had no boundaries in his mind.  However, he didn’t really like thinking about those sorts of personal things.  Especially his feelings; those bothered him the most.  Those didn’t matter in the long run- not yet.

            “I need workers.  I have a big project in mind and it is much too big for just the two of us.”  He replied, swiping the bottom of her chin with his hand.  “Any strong bodied person will do.  But they must know what they’re going into.”

            Ecco nodded.  “Of course.  I can go and-“

            She began to pull away but Jeremiah quickly placed his hand on the side of her neck and turned her back towards him.  He paused, drumming his fingers on her neck in thought.  He really did enjoy her persistence to help him at all costs.  It was unhealthy to enjoy it so much but he could not help but do so.  He was human after all.

            They looked at each other for a long time.  After a moment of silence, he gave another low chuckle, making Ecco grin.  She ran one of her hands carefully up his arm and gave a closed lipped smile.

            There was a large crash from the work area.  Dust billowed into the office.  Jeremiah and Ecco immediately stopped and glared at the incoming dust cloud.  He rolled his eyes and guided Ecco off him.  She quickly smoothed back his hair and the wrinkles on his shoulders.  “Lemme get that, Boss-”

            Before she could turn away, Jeremiah suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth and shushed her.  Both of them slowly turned toward the dust cloud and listened.  Some commotion occurred in the background and something loudly slammed the ground, making Ecco flinch and shut her eyes with a pained noise.  The dust cloud began to disappear soon after.

            Jeremiah removed his hand from her mouth and let out an annoyed groan, moving back to sit at his desk.  “I need more competent workers.  Ones that don’t fumble around with butterfingers.”

            Ecco sighed then offered a smirk.  “You have me.”

            “I wasn’t addressing _you_.”

            Jeremiah pulled the map of the city out from under his coffee mug and looked at it.  Ecco placed her hands on the desk and leaned over to study it as well.  She watched Jeremiah tap his fingers on it in concentration.  Her head still rang in response to the soft clings and clangs of machinery from the workers.  She carefully pulled up one of the chairs and slowly sat down, accidentally snapping off one of the orbs on one of the arms.  A few wooden splinters flew onto the desk in front of her.  She grimaced and cast a quick peek at the man in front of her.  Jeremiah glanced up at the splinters on his desk then looked back at his work.

            Both of them paused and peered at a particular spot on the map.  “ _Granton District_.”  They said in unison then immediately looked up at each other in surprise.

            Jeremiah smirked at her with a delighted hum.  “Dear me.”

            Ecco twitched in excitement at his response.  She fixed the shawl around her shoulders and watched him look back down at the map.  Jeremiah suddenly grabbed a pen and slammed it into the map, making her jump back with a soft gasp.

            He let out a small maniacal snicker.  “The Granton district… I think this might just work…”


End file.
